The Pen In My Hand

Looking at myself through stained glass trying to piece the memories of the past, good ones bad ones seem to fade over the years. The line becomes grey and slowly turns to tears. Paralyzed with emotion afraid to be exposed always standing behind the crowd with the door closed I ask myself why must it be this way? How much of a price do I have to pay? To step into the spotlight would be my greatest thrill but inside i feel without the talent to fill the bill. l I write these words with no forethought or plan just trying to make myself understand. I now realize the first part of my future is THE PEN IN MY HAND!