The gatherer I am not of broken hearts,
For the act I do to feel what I want to express,
Time and again from the bottom of my heart I said,
I know not to love in real,
I know not how to care in real,
For I am not worthy of any companionship,
I only write what in the bubble I paint.
The bubble about which many times to you I told,
The bubble about which to the world many times I told,
From every event that I have known in real,
From any event I heard from others,
From any event about which I have read.
Ah’ I make an emotional bubble, into which I paint,
The images about which I want to express,
Oh’ many models I may choose,
Many ways to express I may choose,
And to you and all who read again and again I said,
It was all an act I do,
To feel what I want to express.
Still who am I to critic who you are, you asked,
Aha, and to all you know slander about me you spread,
Oh’ wonderful to know the poems I wrote worked,
But felt sad when known,
You made me someone I am not.
Many, many times I apologized,
To any hurt I may have caused,
All those times I made it clear,
All I have done was an act I do
To feel what I want to express.
Now no more apologies I can say,
No more favors I can do,
As to the world you chose to spread,
Spread slanders about what I am not,
That lie broke the bubble about you I made,
And with a question blown away, “Who are you?”.
The poet once more a lost cause,
The vagabond mystic none can care about,
The man and poet in different world they live,
Now united to make a new bubble with a new pretty face.
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Here is the blogtv presentation of the poem.