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3-82.
If there was pain
Then know there was love
I could learn to push past the image
Reflect to the soul underneath.
Within myself I touch the glass
And watch the dreamers
Catch their inspirations
From the falling star dust.
I know that when I'm not looking
They run to the window
And witness the actions
That bring me to my knees.
This sounds like the writer
This sounds like the writer experiences a situation where he has a fear and feels intimidation about making something he judges as 'wrong', 'right'. Sad....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
...
I think that we all imagine ourselves somewhere else.