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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364610" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cinematic</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's a strange task to put something down in ink<br>The things worth saying<br>Are the things that can't be said- I think <br>The songs that mean something to sing<br>Are beyond words above language<br>The kind you can't directly engage<br>All this to say what I now say<br>Is worth saying, worth it to me</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I write a movie script<br>There's something about me<br>That becomes<br>Invested<br>Inserted<br>Infused<br>Into my characters, it's a feeling that is foreign<br>For I feel what they feel and not what I fell<br>And yet their person flows from who I am, closer than kin<br>Simultaneously their emotions are born of mine<br>As their emotions are born in me.<br>It's not quite as if I see what they see<br>And yet they are me, more than just a sign<br>Of something I feel, something I thought<br>They're a piece of myself that I brought<br>To fictional life with words that don't<br>Describe all that they are, nor all I am<br>Sometimes it feels like their identity hits me, unplanned<br>But then there's the sense it was always there<br>Was always here<br>Was always me-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some characters scare me<br>Are they all pieces of myself? <br>Are they all mine? If they're mine are they me? <br>Do I have that darkness? Their darkness? <br>That light? Their light? <br>That hope? Their hope? <br>That despair? Their despair? <br>That love? Their love? <br>That hate? Their hate? <br>Is everyone so attached to their characters? <br>I feel their pain it makes me cry<br>I cry real tears in fake dreams<br>Fake stories with fake screams<br>If it's all so fake, then why? <br>So close, so near, and when they die...<br>Do I lose them? Do they live forever<br>Without ever living or do they die and <br>Pass away? Am I allowed to wonder such things, allowed to ponder? <br>One thing I know<br>Every characters I make I feel<br>And in each script there's always one, always one much like me<br>Am I self-focused or simply too attached? <br>Even as they breathe I breathe<br>As their story I weave<br>They weave mine<br>The beautiful irony wherein they write or influence my life<br>As I write theirs<br>So what do they feel about me? <br>How do we interact? Am I free? <br>They seem to have influence, seem to exist<br>Theirs is not a power I think to resist<br>So I'm left with question<br>That they're asking<br>That I'm asking</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What are we to us?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Knox">David Knox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364610" data-title="The Cinematic de David Knox" data-description="It's a strange task to put something down in ink
The things worth saying
Are the things that can't be said- I think 
The songs that mean something to sing
Are beyond words above language
The kind you can't directly engage
All this to say what I no..."></div>
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