On darkened paths amongst the twilight
A startled writer does take swift flight
With pen in hand and ideas in mind
He steps, slowly, with intent to find
A respite from the flow of images
That haunt his every thought.
On paper he does travel far,
Further than any fast moving car
Never leaving he that whitened square
On which he does compose his fare
And always with a fear of what
His enlivened pen will craft.
Is his power a blessing or a curse?
For will ideas fill his purse,
Or prove to drive him down?
Is he haunted or is he gifted,
Will his fears ever be shifted?
As Writer he does have business
With things that would destroy our wishes
To live in ignorance of blisses.
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