Anonymous

Too ordinary when he walks With men of drifting thoughts Just so typical as he talks To people filled with doubts Like anybody when he writes His words become confessions Still too human as he scribes The still unanswered questions Might be unrecognized ‘Cause he conceals this humble being Might be that so perplexed Who’ll burst out this hidden feeling Couldn’t stand the men Whose hearts have harden Couldn’t bear reality That’s blurred with cruelty Only rage fuels the pen To melt those hearts so frozen If only words can awaken Those men who can’t be shaken As pen glides a hymn Ideas flow in rhythm For every stroke is a story Worth written testimony If a painter has his colors To change the world of dolor Then a writer got his words Even sharper than a sword He only exists by a common name That’s soon to hibernate in oblivion He only writes not for fame But to express this mawkish confessions - Written in 2008