why does he do it?

Why does he write it down? The thoughts, feelings, emotions, and remembrances that swirl throughout his mind are his alone. So what is the reason for putting pen to paper, finger to key, post to public? Strangers peer at him, through his words, and rate what they see. Idiots, scholars, angels, and others tell him how good they think he is, how talented they find him to be in the expression of himself. Some are kind, some are not, some are wise, and others do not understand why he is who he is or why he writes what he does. He hurts when they do not find him to be the author of their ages and sometimes cowers away, like a frightened child. Why continue? Why bother? What good does it do? Those questions and others do not leave him. He sees the water flow over the side of the cliff and hears the bird sing its song, ever so sweetly; like puissant forces that can't be held from reaching their destinations. The clouds continue to pass overhead and the stars shine each night. That is why he does it. Because he must. Because that is who he is, what he does. So a best or a worst are not his aim, for only he can express it his way, and only the one bearing their soul can do it just right. For them, for him, each word they lay down is their best. That is all that matters and they must continue to live, to dream, to feel, and to write.