Nobody to read
Nobody to listen
Will my books sell?
Who am I?
What good is it to be a writer?
Sometimes the words don't come
They don't work
How dare I call myself a writer?
What good is it?
Wait and see

I've come this far
after the severest winter
my feet and body are sore
but turn back I'll never

the voice will not stop
it continues to whisper:
'  This is your destined path
   your  every fear you must conquer'

So used to life's trivia
they have taken such as treasure

Dusk falls as I lay in your arms, I return to life for your glimpse of warmth upon my form, I listen to your lush voice coming as the waterfall of sound from your lips to my ears, I could not have telled when you arrived from the dark as the cologne of a long lost friend with the scent of celestial tenderness, I invite you to never let me go, for I still carry you as the halycon of my heart.

Today you have
the power to hurt.

Tomorrow you will be hurt.
Time will turn the tide.

Nothing always remains the same.
The high and mighty have fallen too.

History keeps reminding
again and again.

Once you gave me

wings to fly,

told me I could

touch the sky.

Why everything

changed so much?

Why did you

burn my wings,

brought me back

down to your knees?

On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.