It Started With a Haiku
Why do I write?
Why, of course for the power!
The power to choose,
The fate of the story,
How does it start and how does it end?
If indeed I am the poet,
Do I have the power?
Or does the writing flow,
Regardless of me and of my desires?
One or the other,
The writing is me,
I am the writing.
It reflects me,
It soothes me.
I vent and I rage,
I mourn and I cry.
The writing takes over,
My emotions embodied,
By a body of words.
But how did it start?
Why by a haiku of course!
Modest beginnings.