I'm a writer with no one to write to. But still I find  comfort In the pen that fits Perfectly in my hand. Capturing moments in the sands of time, As it writes them down in Rhyme. Feelings painted in ink, For eyes to read. Open to Scrutiny. Its Reality Searching for the fantasy Inside a poem That reeds in rhymes. Its Who I right too When I got the time.😆😆😆😆😆😆😉