We are brothers and sisters of the pen,
Toiling in darkness, hoping to shed light,
Clicking away our life's blood every day,
Passionately crafting words that go unread.

Of all the things in life that we could do,
None would yield lesser tangible rewards,
We do it not for gain, or praise, or fame,
We do it because it is simply what we are.

We write with ink, with toner, or with blood,
To allow others to see through our eyes,
A world that's stripped of facile, false facades,
And rendered to expose its naked truth.

We travel solitary paths of joy and pain,
Hoping some friends along the way to gain.