The words that I will say

They all must sound cliché

But they do not lose truth

or ever become passé

My words they do convey

A message that's been delayed

For spoken word still leaves a whole

That only print can defray

Print lasts it stays

And opens a door to splay

The mind of an artist

Who cannot draw, paint, or create visual displays

So the reason for which I write

The goal's not to be concise

But more to be an open book

And compose to my hearts delight

My heart's desire my soulful fire

The things I keep inside

Can jump out of the minds cage off the page and really come alive

So why I write I won't be trite

This poem will come alight

I write to excite and to delight and bring my thoughts to life