How do you write?
What do you write?
When do you write?
Wrong questions. So much of life is focused on wrong questions.
Why do you write?
That’s better.
It is not because I breathe in,
But because after each breath in, I breathe out,
And what comes in must get out, lest I explode.
It is not because of the wind on my face,
But because wind on my face is felt,
And with sensation, emotion, uncontainable emotion.
It is not because I think,
But because those thoughts are tangled together with the fabric of reality
(as I see it),
And in the untangling I see both me, and the fabric more clearly.
It is not because of you,
But because you are separate(d?) from me,
And each word, each verse, each rhyme brings us closer.
It is not because of them,
But because they are distant, oh so distant,
And there is in the expressing the possibility to close that gap.
But pen with caution, pen with intent, lest the breach be widened.
It is not because of time,
But because time will not stay still, nor the thoughts it contains.
And today's unwritten words will soon be lost in tomorrow's uncertainties.
It is not because of truth,
But because truth can be elusive, oh so elusive,
And unfound truth means untruth found, its damages without reparations.
It is not because of love,
But because love...no wait...it is because of love.
And love expressed can change
my breath,
my feeling,
my thinking,
you,
them,
time,
truth. (Love can’t change facts. But truth? Oh yes, love can change truth!)
Did you ask why I write...it’s a good question.
I write because of love.
Because right love, writely expressed, rights wrongs,
And wrongs righted, with hearts knighted, means lives united.
