He can only be the one to write
An own poem else a tale
An epic yet a mirror
Or a legend for us to remember
A story of a writer
He starts when he awakes
Picks a pen
Opens a free-written paper
Hence he pause to think
Then becomes a new born writer
Midday he rumbles thoughts so distinct
Unsure and very disturb
A masterpiece can he surge?
Or ask is trying enough?
Can do a distorted man move?
Can someplace be right for him?
Will this piece give him honor?
Further more he needs to stop and stand
As he closes the paper
With no more pen on hand
He will finish his piece on fate’s demand
And no more chance to re-write
What will this man have finished –
When his mind is distorted and unflourished
