An Explanation

I write.

I write because my life without the touch of a pen

Would end

In a world as bland as sand.

Unlucky and untouched

By the ocean waves

Inches away

That save the rocks

From monotony,

I write.

I write to escape

The waning days that

Decay and devour the hours that pass

In the hellish heat

Where souls arise like steam from sleet

From minds bereft of thought,

I write.

                And write,

For the sight of my soul on display

In the array of words printed

In tinted language

To be taken and tilted; stilted by

Markings on paper.