My mind contains a world of its own.

I live among things natural, familiar and known

Yet yearn for those lands of magic that I must leave

With those gateways to fairies, witches, and miracles

And so I write because I believe.

I love to wander in strange meadows of flowers

Their thorns give me cuts that take time to heal

But I can’t help smelling their heavenly scents

And so I write because I feel.

And sometimes I can’t find the sun

When I dive into the waters that fervently seethe

I then have no option but to dream of air

And so my writing lets me breathe.

Risky and slippery is my course here

But promise of discovery guides me up the slope

Though sometimes I just can’t find a foothold

And so my writing lends me hope.

This world is not a perfect place

Where there is trust, there is still scam

But life brings a choice to embrace improvement

And so I write because I am.