Author Information
Words
The writer can never be happy with their own words
For they are the voice of another
Absurd, foreign creature, with only a passing resemblance.
As something appears in the reflection of the water at sunset,
At the shoreline, the houses shimmering, in strange autumnal colours,
Their windows and walls darkened by that depth
Where different life is held,
So too are the words.
They are just a strange reflection
They are no substitute
Though they are more beautiful than the real thing.
This scribbling was inspired
This scribbling was inspired by something written somwhere but I cannot remember what
That's why
I need an editor. Never happy with my own words. Dangit!
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