Silent lyrics sung, line by line,

Page by page, movies projected on my mind.

Words that moved me like waves, washed me out to sea.

Words that, like lighthouses, revealed the shore to me.


Sailors of stars, stories in hand,

Of heartbreak and romance, of adventures in distant lands.

Where words can lift you up and make you fly,

And stand with you against demons that darken the sky.


Whether high [on life] and humming happy tunes,

Or maudlin (in my cups) and singing the blues,

This drunken sailor would doff his cap,

Clear his throat, and raise his glass;


To all of the writers in their own little worlds,

To all of the pencils scratching, and all the pen whorls,

To all of the cluttered keyboards clacking,

To all of the rhythmic fingers tapping,


For all of the dreams and even the nightmares,

For all of the times your words let us know that somebody cares,

For all the truth, guiding ship to coast,

I raise my glass in an old Irish toast:


May the dreams you hold dearest,

Be those that come true,

And the kindness you spread,

Keep returning to you.


Slainte!  

Keep writing! <3