Submissions by tataramon

I write poems
but I am no poet.
I draw art
but I am no artist.
Brilliant authors can make
words of black and white
paint colors in your mind.
Great artists can make
lines and figures frozen in time
slowly come to life.
I am neither,
but ain't it a waste
to let a plethora of emotions and ideas
stay stuck in your head,
only to be forgotten and someday erased?

I never realized something so near can be so far
As if distance is an illusion, a misleading mirage
When I try to get closer, the space strangely grows wider
Then I wonder who's to blame
Is it the peculiar fabric of space?
Or just me afraid to show my face?