Typed Music

Poems.

I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.

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47. Writer's Epiphany

Epiphany might be January 6th
But mine came today
As I walked to the bus stop in the half-light
And I realised that
I
Never
Really
Feel
Anymore
And the thought scared me because I suddenly realised
That I’d taken to living life with all lines disconnected
I look on each moment as a detached observer
Appreciating each moment like a cinema spectator
Enjoying someone-else’s life
Or making side comments and footnotes on the margins and the paving slabs.
And I realised that I don’t live in real time
Because, although I live in the present tense,
I live in a present tense of hindsight
From which I observe and calculate and wonder how the lighting could be put into poetry
And the closest I come to feeling things
Is when I wish I could find the words to describe them
 

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