To wield a pen, a burden weighs
Upon the mind of he who writes.
Responsibility of words
Churning night and day, night and day.
A thought, a whisper, fleeing fast,
Pen to paper before it’s gone.
Torture to him who loses it.
Fleeting, not to last, soon is past.
Why is it these words plague him so?
Of what importance could they be?
They hide away inside a book,
Unseen, none to show, none will know.
Why do they continue their dance,
All these words that must be written?
For a blessing, it is a curse.
It could be their final dance, last chance.
For if he hesitates too long,
The words and rhymes, stanzas and lines
May vanish, not a single trace.
All gone, unborn poems and songs.
So bear the burden joyfully,
For it is not given to all,
Only those who hear its whispers
Calling “come and see, set me free.”
Hasten then to answer the call,
Rise up to the challenge each day.
Let the words flow, be a vessel.
Listen, let them fall, do not stall.
Be quick, be quick with your answer.
Claim the words and let them be heard.
Breathe love, life deeply into them.
Write boldly and of this be sure:
The words haunt you for a purpose.
Think of that when they come to you
With whispers and murmurs, pleading,
“Let us speak, let the world hear us.”