Writing releases my mind,
Like a breeze gently soothing my soul,
It’s a sort of ladder I find,
When I feel myself lost in a hole.

I thrive on the way words can speak,
And tell me what I need to know,
Making me strong when I’m weak,
And lifting me when I am low.

It’s a remedy yet it’s a curse,
For it feeds me but needs to be fuelled,
It’s the patient and I am  the nurse,
Though the writing cannot be ruled.

It awakes in me without a care,
No matter where I might be,
It triggers my mind like a flare,
With a burning light making me see.