We write down words to convey a thought,
Or to share a different opinion,
Yet if it’s a writer’s only voice,
It enters another dominion,
For as you write the words on paper,
They then become something real,
Useless if no one ever sees,
The depth of a thing you feel.
If you stand on a random street corner,
And scream as loud as you can,
People notice right away,
Thinking you a crazy man,
The spoken word floats on the air,
Then is forever gone,
Yet once written on paper,
The screaming goes on and on.
Writer’s might talk of politics,
Or things a little more real,
For me its a voice from heart and head,
That shows another how I feel,
Inspiration might come in many forms,
Yet the heart controls the hand,
The heart makes words flow with order,
With the hope you’ll understand.
I hope that you can truly see,
The words I love you ring true,
And every day I carry the belief,
That the same is true for you,
Though some might call this useless rantings,
These are the echoes of this soul,
Reaching through both time and space,
For the One who makes him whole.