“The writer must earn money in order to be able to live and to write, but he must by no means live and write for the purpose of making money.” Karl Marx
I write because I enjoy the weight of the pen in my palm, the feel of the course sheath of paper against my hand and the sound of the keys as I transpose my written notes into typeface. I write for the me I am. The me I will become and the me I have always been.
My ideas are the resultant of my muse, the clenching of time's chains as it rattles on second by second. I write for the gift of the scene, the thrust of dialogue and the essence of soul.
Ideas I breathe, and exhale prose; poetry falls from my lips. Every moment has meaning, every twitch and inkling observed for the next scene that is always to come, the next story, the next manuscript. Without words, I fail. Fallen under the influence of another, hypnotized by its glamour, my conscience will then be robbed of that which I always was and forever will be - a writer.
Filled with passion's ink, I write. When the story has ended, I then mull it over and learn from the mistakes in order to once again create.
YOU ARE READING
A Writer's Poetry
PoesiePoetry is used to help me jump over my shadow, and locate what is blocking me from being able to get words on the page. Herein, I attempt to reveal my inner demons, secrets and have my words serve as my therapy. It's more than poetry...it's an aut...
