I don't think I repulse
Because my waters are too rapid.
I simply think the geese found others,
Much clearer than mine.
No bird dares enter the mind of me,
Yet they stay and linger as though by force,
Sometimes I'd rather they leave.
Sometimes
I'd rather sit in loneliness,
And allow the song of a piano kiss my face.
People don't write poems about me.
I write poems about people.
My pencil glides along the sky,
Sketching meaningless objects
And trying to connect the stars.
But they've already found someone
Who is better at it than me.
I fear that I will be left behind in this forsaken realm, left with a Saphire and an emerald or two,
but not with the people that leave them.
