It Started With a Haiku

 

Why do I write?

Why, of course for the power!

The power to choose,

The fate of the story,

How does it start and how does it end?

If indeed I am the poet,

Do I have the power?

Or does the writing flow,

Regardless of me and of my desires?

 

One or the other,

The writing is me,

 I am the writing.

It reflects me,

It soothes me.

I vent and I rage,

I mourn and I cry.

The writing takes over,

My emotions embodied,

By a body of words.

 

But how did it start?

Why by a haiku of course!

Modest beginnings.

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