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I woke up this morning
with my dream staring me in the face.
He asked me if I had what it takes.
"Are you hungry boy? 
I mean starving for fame
or is it fortune you are trying to claim?"
"Neither." I said.
"I just want to write."
He looked at me as if I were insane
and held me in great disdain.
"Writing for fun that's alright
but have you labored with all your might?
Have you toiled from midnight until dawn
to put down words that must be won."
Are you ready to die to self,
pick up the pen and get in the fight?
Do you have the courage to make a stand
or will you flee from the sun?"
I thought for a moment and then I said,
"Alright. I get it, but what do I Do?
I've bills to pay
and a job that calls everyday."
With disgust he answered me,
"Throw down your pen and never touch it again.
Your not worthy of this dream.
Let braver souls wage the war,
let the heroes shed their blood."
So that is what I resolved to do.
Just give up and get on with life.
The life of bills, kids, and a wife.
Everyday was like the next
one boring song without a tune.
All my colors turned to gray
and soon I had nothing to say.
My spirit died within my soul
and my heart went totally cold.
My dream had come and now was gone.
I would never write again.
I had died but the words lived on.
Without me they were just fine.
But my dream, it had died too
never to be born again.
I awoke bathed in sweat
knowing now I would never forget,
that I had one thing to do.
Live my life in my dream.
I settled in and began to write.
I fought hard day and night.
And in the fiercest battle of all
I found my passion and heeded the call.
I will die a pauper sure
but I will be rich in my dream.
Never again will I doubt
the power of the pen
to make things right.

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