Ode to Writing

The sensation of the movement
a full loaded mechanical pencil.
A blank sheet of paper.
Waiting impatiently
to form the letters
that will become words.
When I return each day to write,
I sing with hope in my voice.
To once again form the sentences,
of a real masterpiece.
My words
blocking out the words of the world.
Not hearing anything
until the time is up.
With little time to say good bye
To the pencil and paper that make my day
But in the end
unwillingly,
I leave my place in writing destiny,
Until next time...