to what shall I write on an empty day
when skies are grey
when I feel no play
within my soul
to whom can I write ink on pages
in dark ages
while rage is
within my soul
to when will I write stories of old
when all is told
when I feel mold
within my soul
Oh! Why should I write about inside emotions
disturb unchecked notions
and increase commotion
within my soul

do I dare defy my mind's pristine palace?
with challenging concepts
with wild words
to shake the foundations
within my soul
do I wish to write words true?
or explore ideas new
or release the twisted tortures
trapped deep
within my soul
do I hope for exultations?
congrats and celebrations?
for words wandering in my mind
while words lost weep
within my soul
do I do or do I die
do I tell truths or do I tell lies
do I hide or do I show
the words I know
within my soul

All I wish to see
is some melody
pour upon the pages
while the pitcher in my heart
remains unpoured
within my soul
All I wish to do
is draft divine brews
with ingredients inquired
from the world around
rather than pieces profound
within my soul
All I wish to be
is a virtuoso visionary
whose name is heard around
the world tenfold
while the true tenderness remains
within my soul
All I say I misconstrue
to bury what I knew
could never leak upon the papers
of the world
and keep my paper heart locked
within my soul

But if my pen's ink
came not from where I think
but from my chest where my heart beats
and the words I write
came not from nature's daylight
or from words announced from other's lips
but from wells
within my soul
might I find
though not celebrations
perhaps personal thanks
and reconciliation
for myself
and frustrations found
within my soul