Writers write not the things
that happened to them, not all the time.
It looks as if it is and you may tell,
It’s part of them but I’d say,
It’s their part to write it.
All the things they write
is not them or about the
people they met but it
might have happened to someone or
even you, yeah “You”
The emotions in the words may seem
It’s certainly theirs but I’d say,
writers feel exactly how
that you felt,
they feel for you,
they write for you, they remind you of you,
they think for you, they think they are you.
Writers write their imagination
they create what they wish to be,
what they wish to tell or yell,
what they wish to feel,
where they wish to be and
who they wish to meet,
all these wishes which includes
nothing but fictions
are granted by their words.
Making it all feel real and beautiful
sometimes terribly sad yet teaches
you a lesson, leaves you dumbfound,
Words are the creators
they create art and the artist.
They create you.
Writers are more of an intellect, teaching life I’d say.
Writers scribe ugly truths and beautiful lies,
making you understand the World better.
Moreover they are more humane
and mystical persons you’ll ever find,
they give life to the dead,
they cry for unseen and unknown faces,
they create a seperate world for you,
they live in the mind of yours,
they live in the heart of yours,
maybe that’s why they write what you think
and what you feel or what might as well.
They breathe in peace with the words but
even when they don’t breathe anymore
their words written keeps breathing for them.
They are immortal for their words are.