Today, you ask me why I write,
Why set in ink those words at all?
I can reply just by being upright
That I only answer that treacherous Call.
In my ear, the Call does say
Of thoughts and other similar things,
Murmuring incessant all through the day
And nights full in those whisperings.
Of men, their ambitions and their goals,
And oft-times about me and you,
Of joys and beauties and cheerful souls,
Sprinkled on top with horrors too.
Till my heart can take no more,
Drowning all its chambers deep,
Till into pieces my mind is torn,
Till Sanity is difficult to keep.
Only then, to calm the maddening storm
Do I put black down on white,
To restore things to their norm
Momentarily at least to gain respite.
Originally shared with a friend in the Summer of 2014