“A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”
~
Maya Angelou
It gives me peace and contentment alike.
In times of grief, those of sorrow and despair;
When I'm hit hard and have nowhere to go,
It puts to rest a mind in turmoil, a spirit disgruntled, a heart in pain.
It is a friend, a philosopher, a guide;
A solace, a haven - the hand that writes.
That moment of rapture, that euphoric rush,
That minute of joy, and mirthful blithe.
When tears of joy may moisten my eyes,
A feeling so special that moves my heart,
When words fail my tongue, it is here that I find respite.
And in all humility I bow to the power that empowers me to write.
To take me far from the madding crowd, yet bring me closer to people;
To ease me of my discomfort, to become a vent;
To strengthen my ability, to hone my talent.
To kill my loneliness, and keep me company,
For all this and a lot lot more, is why I write.
~
