To write is to live
To breathe
To exist.
Writing is dreaming
Is sleeping
Is drinking and eating,
Laughing and dancing,
Leaping and playing.
Writing is the best of the world,
And the worst of it.
All at once you are swept away,
Become as one with the heavens
As your scrawl invades the page
Like cancer
Or water.
The whole of your life is summed up in each page
Over and over as a new page begins.
You can't stop
Even though you don't know where to start.
And you wish,
Oh you wish,
That you could dance beneath the heaven's glow
With the freedom of fantasy as your only guidelines
For the rest of eternity
Or even just another moment.
But every day must meet her night,
Each season must have it's finale
And even the sun must sometimes rest her eyes
So we surrender
To the limited wasteland of reality
Armed with the knowledge
That we can sing with the elves,
Dance with the dragons,
Or fall in love with a vampire
Anytime the fancy strikes us.
All we need is a pen,
Some paper,
And the relentless power of imagination.
