I write because I must.
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A spark jumps, something begging be shared.
A time of silence, without words,
Icy darkness.
And then the flame flickers, the words pour forth.
Divine inspiration on paper.
As I write I touch the One who wrote the world into
existence.
A God of words, Creator.
I am made in His image.
My soul communes with the divine when the words break free.
I write to touch others, I write to touch myself.
Thoughts inside begging to be expressed.
Sometimes falling like lead, painful—without echoes.
At times, feathers—floating from my grasp.
Then, they rush forth like water, a torrent, satisfying
A worth of their own.
The drops become a river, inviting others to drink.
They take life and speak.
I write because I must.
Painful times, when the words don’t come
The icy silence of the an empty page
Glorious times when the words flow with grace, sweeping
across the pages,
Answering divine echoes deep within my soul.
Words are my craft, they are my blood, poured out.
Meter, rhyme, cadence, rhythm.
The words live, with a heartbeat all their own
I write because I must.
My soul longs for expression.
I want to touch others the way I’ve been touched.
Reaching out, offering hope and comfort.
A writer’s soul is deep.
The thoughts have roots
Sharing is painful, a nakedness of self, exposed.
Vulnerable, shy,
Driven.
The words express who I am and who I want to be.
My words are my becoming.
