I write to give a voice to the mute, the silent, the unable.
I write to paint the leaves on a long forgotten tree.
I write to remember all that has passed.
I write for those who can’t
I write for people, with people, to people, and at people
I write for a dream, to create and mold that dream
I write to argue with the known and to question the unknown
I write to give value to things that have been cast aside
I write for the joy, and the bliss
I write for the sadness, and the pain
I write the truth
I write the lies
I write for the perpetual and the transient.
I write, I read, I write, I speak, I write
The power my words hold, the beauty my words hold,
They empower and brighten this world.
They are the weapons I hold on my palette.
I wield them to leave an imprint on a white canvas,
A canvas, yet to be infested with my candor,
This world of taint
This world that my words, make drift away
Gone is the stress, strife, and worry
replaced by a fantasy, a story, a luxury
something reality can’t get a grasp on,
something that takes it all away.
My word is art.
My word is life.
My word can.
That is why I write.