To be a writer,
A true writer,
Is to live for a passion
that holds threats of
Inhabiting a cardboard box.

To be a writer,
Is to be in touch
with your unique spirit.
Whether it be
Imagination abound,
rhythmic and profound,
Or sorrowful and sappy,
A piece of you
Comes out in writing,
And brings that piece
From within others to life.

You spend hours,
To fill a tree’s worth
of notebooks,
Or an endless matrix
of word documents;
With chapter after chapter,
Stanza after stanza,
And then usually only savor
But few pages to
Let see the light of day.

You trip and toil over
Wounded muses,
Wording,
Style,
And anal grammar rules,
To produce
an offering of perspective
that helps others
to better see the world.

With every being,
Your mortal body decays,
Your immortal soul goes wherever they go,
And you are inevitably forgotten in this world.
Unless,
You’ve left pieces behind…