Reader. Writer. Romantic.

Logical Dreamer

I waste my days writing up sonnets
Dreaming of a time better past
Dreaming of a future never come
Fantasizing
Imagining
Something that will never be

I was born to write poetry
Filled with a mournful sorrow
Happiness amounts to nothing

My heart will always be the dreamer
My mind the realist

Always telling the truth
Always scolding me to study:
The Art of Logic
Of Rhetoric too
Of Science and Math
But never of the arts

But I pay no heed
I instead waste away
Writing the whispers of a cloud
On a cloudless day

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