The Heart Of A Writer

Every word leaves a mark Unseen by the naked eye A signature delicately woven Screaming on each worn page Crying out to its creator Seeking only acknowledgement Like a child looks to its mother For reassurance in its purpose Like a mother looks to her child An author sighs with admiration In the simplicity of the written word So young and craving to learn Eager to know the ways of the world The heart of a writer is not on the page Not on the parchment held in one's hands But in the words floating somewhere Between the world and the mind In the midst of chaos and serenity