A writer is me,
There's not much to see,
I'm sure you'd agree.
My imagination goes on writing sprees,
Jotting down everything it sees,
I allow my mind to wander free.
My pen is a sword,
The paper my shield,
Mistakes I can't afford,
When these weapons I wield.
I build the chapters by hand,
My hand writes word-for-word,
While the sentences I command,
I feel self-assured.
Ideas flood through my head,
Inspired by all the books I have read,
From these books, I've been mentally fed.
I decide whose love is alive,
And who stays dead,
Whose adventure will thrive,
And who will be overcome with dread.
Writer's block, my old enemy,
Why do you creep up and make a fool of me?
Why do you distract my thoughts, from everything I see,
Making my imagination cease to be?
I'll crack your asylum,
I'll break your curse and then some,
I'll become even more random,
To block out your everlasting boredom.
I don't know how to inspire,
Or even give one their heart's desire,
I only hope to be that match which starts a fire,
Making a person's faith in life grow higher.
I too, am encouraged,
By readers and friends,
They keep my self-esteem well-nourished,
They help tie any loose ends.
I try to encourage my readers,
Not just to read but to write,
To evolve into leaders,
Giving the future a new light.
Long live the writers.