The lost and the restless; those in doubt
People who can't ever get themselves out
Tied up by bonds forcing them back
Can't make up for anything they're said to lack
Emotions on high; tears in streams
Broken souls giving up on their dreams
For those that are trying so badly to fight
This, my friend, is the truth of why I write.
The power of nature; burning so wild
People who imagine as if they're a child
Tied in the vines of a meadow's red roses
Can't escape the world living under their noses
Emotions of beauty and goodness in all
Broken limbs mean nothing when they fall
For these human beings who can always smile
This, good sir, makes writing worthwhile.