The Pen in my Hands, Is my Meaning to Write

I want to live and write on the sheet

My future is my own, and I own it with a pen

I am scared for my world, I only know how to write

All I need is to write my way, and on my face a smile

I make the music with my works, and letters is the sound

I want this to be mine, I want it to be my life

Within the darkness, I try to figure out my life

How can make a living, with ink on a sheet

Is this my fall, and my screams the aching sound

I hope that I don’t fall beneath my own pen

A sense of fear takes over, only frowns, with no smile

My living, my outcome, determined by my will to write

How I stress, how I toil with my need to write

I feel as though I have no other use in my life

I see choices, no need of happiness or to smile

There is no focus to make my life with this sheet

My hand trembles, fingers cave, as I view the falling pen

I hate this noise, the bell tolls with such loud sound

I wake, the alarm shouts an obnoxious sound

I feel no need to eat, no need to write

I use no fork, I use no spoon, and I chose to overlook the pen

I am crowded with duty, and must go on with life

My life is no story, no book, or chapters read on a sheet

I go through my days, with nothing more than wits and no smile

The days go slow, and I see boys and girls smile

For I second I cloud out noise, music, and sound

I find my journal on my desk, and look to one blank sheet

I don’t know where to begin, I don’t know what to write

I try to discover, to uncover the meaning of my life

Through words, and phrases, marked by my pen

Through days of unrest, and hand cramped by the pen

I sit back satisfied, and see me reflection smile

I don’t know my purpose or my meaning to life

I listen to nature, and the symphonies come with sound

I may be this or that, but I will forever write

The story of my life, immortalized on a sheet

This sheet inked with my pen

I write and forever smile

Through sound and ink is my life