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.