I love the way my pen glides across the page,
Like a dancer drifts across a smooth stage.
The ink tells a long forgotten story,
Overflowing with blackened fury.
Why would I ever want to rid my will to write,
Thats like an angel... giving up in mid flight.
For to write is to project my voice,
I'd do it in public if it was my choice.
But that is asking for trouble, you see.
Getting shot for anything you want to be.
So I'll stick to a pen in my hand,
These words obey my every command.
Kitti Manson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-writing-2/
