PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have written wonders, epics, and songs,
I have written characters, failures, and wrongs.
I have done so much writing I ill never find it all,
Posted so may, a list so tall, it might hold me up when I fall.
But, in the end all I do is write,
Hours on end, minutes and seconds into the night.
Until everyone knows my words or of me,
Until it is all they or I can see.
But now you know my written story, all my ink,
But to discover I missed a vital link.
I forgot myself, lost myself, where am I now?
I would tell you, but I forgot how.
I have bent to the public, to my emotions as well,
until what I feel even I can't tell.
I am nothing but ink, no body or soul,
A pen, an instrument a clock with no toll.
You could argue my words are me,
And into my personality they let you see.
But what would you say if I told you it was lies,
That it was what I wanted in my own eyes.
I think that's not true, but I don't know aymore.
I want out, I think I will write my own door.
So if you wanted to know me, I guess its too late,
If I don't know myself, what is my fate?