Uncluttered hours with unbroken,
open windows and sunshine, Space!,
not just in the room, but the Space which
is Outer, out there, up there to be filled
with enough words to describe, at least, Love.

Objectivity to stand back and view
the turmoil Inside, waiting;
for The Voice, a voice in writing
that compels a Reader, to enjoy listening,
to the spoken word, as their tongue
wrestles with the sounds which pitch
and yaw during the flight, the journey,
to find what is beyond their equilibrium.

The spoken word which can, bring light to
the darkness, quiet an uneasy child,
contentment to the one who can not sleep
until they write, and rewrite and write some
more.  Only brief Peace is found on this
Earth, by a writer purging his grey matter by
weaving thoughts on a white blank page.

It is not a dare to dream, nay, a dare to
let some One other than your self, experience
a dream that was once yours, alone.