I long for a quiet place where I can dream.

No dogs that bark.

No birds that sing.

No one to interrupt me while I think,

while the world scoffs at my dreams.

-

Dumb to be a writer, they say.

No money.

No stability.

Too much play.

“It is not normal,” they say,

“to be creative in such a way.

-

Work is a factory, putting pieces together,

and following command.

Work is physical labor and sacrifice.”

They say, “how can one hope for security in writing?”

Why not be a computer technician, a teacher or a nurse?

-

“They don’t interest me,” I say.

“I am not in this to line my purse.”

But to give the world inspiration, that they might know,

There IS more to life than WORK, WORK, WORK!

For all joy and creativity began in the hands of a great writer

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A/N: This was the very first poem I ever wrote, 4 years ago for a creative writing class