Between Blinks, Personal Reflection

Years ago whole societies painted their histories which may take archaeologists and scholars countless hours to decipher, if they can even accomplish this marvelous feat. Soon the people began to use a new system, stories and spoken words. Their histories still exist, without miss-interpretations or incorrect translation. The stories themselves are immortal, but the author is only said to be but an elder who may or may not be remembered based on his greatness. Through my poetry I try to the best of my ability to express an emotion the way I am experiencing it right at that moment. Through the beauty of poetry if my works were read 100 years, from that emotion could be relived by anyone who's reading it. So the picture that my thousand words paint, wouldn't become yellowed by time, loose its glossy coat, or its fresh scent but exist brand new each time and become eternal. Through my gift I have attained immortality, as much as I can, as a human being.