A Slave Writer
I'm a slave writer~ who never wrote a word
A so called Poet~ hard to believe my worth
I really don't believe~ half the things I say
But under life's pressure ~ forced to say it anyway
I'm a slave writer~ by circumstance not choice
My heart's independent~ sometimes ridiculous my mouth
My hopes speak of love~ my senseless fears of hate
I might be problematic~ I toss and turn between two states
I'm a slave writer~ blind to see myself
Am I so removed~ I think I'm something else
I listen to the wind ~ do the waltz with butterfly's
When my heart is aching ~ I often ink out to cry
So goodbye ~ here comes a poem out of sky~
Pen on paper don't ask why~ Master Muse takes over mind ~ And I find
~ I'm a slave writer ~
A gift to PS: ( You are pens~ life is paper~ Write on )
Copyright © Arturo Michael | Year Posted 2019
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