Untitled

A poem that is a combination of german and english.

I write to feel.
Ich bin nicht okay.
I know that.
I write to escape.
Es ist Unsinn.
But is it really though?

Bist du verrückt?!
I question myself daily.
Warum mich?
Ich verstehe nichts!

Like a blank canvas,
Untouched by paint,
No intricate brush strokes,
That tell stories of worlds
Undiscovered.

Like a book,
Left weightless with no ink,
Tales of grand adventures,
Forever a mystery and sealed away,
By ink that had never bled onto the pages.

Unsinn! Unsinn! Unsinn!
Ich erschafft Welten,
Which have never been seen before.
Where the magic truly lives.
Your emotions never run dry
Or fade away into the abyss.

The rage lingers beneath the surface
An inferno waiting to be unleashed,
A battle cry yet to be heard,
It's raw and untamed,
It festers and grows,
But it's vital and righteous.

Once unleashed,
It would not destroy,
But it would bring chaos,
Beautiful and complex,
It would dance along the outskirts,
It would rage and swirl in time with the wind.
Inviting whomever it pleased!
Re-igniting a passion in the very
Depths of the souls that feared
That they had lost it.

So i write to feel,
Ich hoffe, dass es Sinnvoll ist.
It makes no sense
But when has art
Or expression ever made
Complete sense?
Es ist Unsinn, natürlich!
Aber es ist auch Sinn.
And i know that now.

So i write to feel
And i am okay.