No this will not be an ode to creativity, Nor will it be an epithet for emotion. It will not serve as intellectual *******, Nor an attempt at pointless immortality.
I write simply cause I do, Much in the vein of walking, eating, breathing. It is an instinctive process of nature, Like a lion hunting a buck.
No I do not strive to write. I do not search for muse or flavour. On occasion a bolt from the heavens Will find its way through my pen Onto a paper And like the village ***** Land up discarded on my floor
This is not a love letter to myself I did earlier confess I write simply cause I do Its nothing more than a natural process