If a man can write of sadness, does it mean he knows true sorrow? If he writes about the future, does it mean he knows tomorrow?
If pen gets put to paper and his words are filled with kindness, does it mean he really cares? Or do we assume that through our blindness?
If he talks of all the possibilities, found in the darkness of the night, does that mean he never walks within a peace filled light?
If he writes of all his inner hurts does he only know of pain? If his words to you, seem playful, does that mean he plays some game?
When he speaks of nature, and of all the flowers and the trees does that mean he's found the beauty there, within the landscape's scenery?
If he muses about the beasts that crawl, or upon the birds that fly, does that tell us that his feet are planted, or that his soul will fly?
If a man writes of matters of the heart, and the transcending meanings of the dove, does that mean his soul's not ripped apart, or that he knows true love ?
Thank you for reading and liking this. I'm happy you seemed to enjoy it.
SW-User
We are trapped in our minds. Even to take another's perspective is to try and recreate their world within our own minds. Are there 'errors in translation?' Or is it more fundamental? Hey gorgeous, you've got me musing poet x
