Why I write

It calls to me, my life, my blood, the words

sung to me like silent whispers in the quite of the night.

Oh this is what it is to live and breathe emotion

to stand and speak my mind.

Ah for if you cut me open I will bleed a poem

of lose and sorrow and rhyme.

Oh what is it to see emotion and to make you feel mine

to tell my thoughts to the darkness of all time

for what is time and space but darkness and what

is life without love but an endlessly sorrowful melody sung off key.

To live is to love,

To love is to hurt,

To hurt is to write and

To write is to feel

For if I did not live I could not love

And if I do not love I cannot feel and if I do not feel

I cannot write of this life I live and the people I love

And the hurt I feel.