Confessions of a Writer

The silence is broken.


With pen in hand,

I remember once more

The beauty found inside

A simple flow of words.


The graceful art of reaching deep

Into the very core of my soul

And allowing it to take form.

A creation of ink and heart,

Of sorrows and joys,

A declaration of everything I am

And will never forget or let go.


My body holds the chamber,

While my spirit leaks out,

Beyond this paper,

Beyond its literary boundaries,

To touch not only myself,

But those who seek its truth.


It is this truth that I had forgotten,

Having abandoned its calling for years it seems.

But not anymore; not ever.

It is my blood, my life,

And I must promise to always see it through.