A whole character is built in the written word.
It's you, but it's not you, because you're alive.
But it becomes you -
Will you become it when you die?
Your familiar energy drink pours out of fountains
And doesn't cost two and a half dollars anymore.
Your favorite fast food places line the streets
Of your daily routine roads.
Your silver go-kart won't break down;
I look for that license plate all over town.
Your favorite number is everywhere
And every poem has it hidden somewhere.
The people whom writers grow close to live forever.
And when the writer's dead or off in a distant land
People are shaking their heads
'Cause they don't understand
What it feels like to have urges to hug you or hold your hand.
And every once in a while my heart is trembling
When I remember your smiles
Or having trouble remembering.
But that's why I keep on writing
So I won't ever have to forget
Or keep on fighting my thoughts
Or leave with any regret
'Cause I would never take back
Anything I've ever done
For the spark that turned into my sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem