She goes from wishing she were a werewolf to contemplating poetic style. |
Moonlit nights find me wandering darkened paths glancing up to see that glowing orb to feel drawn to do things, see things, be things yet feeling so utterly human and sometimes wishing it were not so. Faith leads me to deny these wanderings yet humanity leads me to crave them to want the power encompassed in imagination to desire the taste of embracing the night to yield to its siren's song. I am so human, yet I wish I were not. Yet were I not, I would not know the joys of humanity. Or would I? Night calls... Day is this blinding force of work, sleep, work, sleep... And night is for wandering, searching, endlessly looking for answers. I am me. Human... wishing I were other... being grateful I am not at the same time. Why must I write my thoughts in poetry? Because I cannot express myself otherwise. Because day and night coexist and so must I with the universe and because to so coexist, I must express myself... in any way possible. I wish I were elsewhere. But were I elsewhere I would not be here I would not be living the plan, perfect and infallable which places me exactly where I need to be when I need to be there. I wish I could be happy with it. Why am I writing in five-line paragraphs? Because to me this is poetry. And poetry defines my way of thinking, whether through rhyme or reason in this case 'tis reason for lack of rhyme thereof. |