by Julie Spaur

Created on: April 06, 2009

Occupation

Lifelike images;

but only in my head.

Others find fulfillment

and happiness as I watch,

alone and lonely,

through a dirty window.

I live, but only in my

own imagination.

I interpret their actions

and feelings with accuracy.

My own are muddled

and stifled by the wall

I've built around myself.

I share in their laughter

and tears.

I listen to their hopes

and their fears,

but only with my pen

and a sheet of crisp, white paper.

I call myself a poet.

Learn more about this author, Julie Spaur.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.