Amazing isn't it?
How text can't quite seem to actual encapsulate it all.
There's something that a letters put together (words) , can't quite reach.
It's more than intangible.
No, it is something lost as soon as it's written (or typed) down.
That feel the Modernist tried to capture with experimentation
That Pre-Raphaelites colored the palates of their portraits
That Transcendentalist sought in the woodlands and sanctum of the self
That Poets and Authors attempt to bind with literary devices and style
That essence only experienced and found within living life.
The meddling of everyday circumstances, and the curiosity that abounds.
The fusion of friendship and fiendship, and surviving through the week.
For all the depth and breadth of a writer or a text,
Nothing can be more chaotically picturesque than each second of life.
But that's just a thought, isn't it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem