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What it is to write. |
The nature of The Writer On darkened paths amongst the twilight A startled writer does take swift flight With pen in hand and ideas in mind He steps, slowly, with intent to find A respite from the flow of images That haunt his every thought. On paper he does travel far, Further than any fast moving car Never leaving he that whitened square On which he does compose his fare And always with a fear of what His enlivened pen will craft. Is his power a blessing or a curse? For will ideas fill his purse, Or prove to drive him down? Is he haunted or is he gifted, Will his fears ever be shifted? As Writer he does have business With things that would destroy our wishes To live in ignorance of blisses. |