My dream is to write a story, maybe a poem
That will stand the test of time. It need not be World shaking, clever, nor written in rhyme;
However it must carry an element of truth.
A write that is bound in a thread of lies,
To me is deceit and carries no weight at all.
As I finger the keys on my computer board,
My mind struggles with the words I hoard
I pick and I choose and analyze, thru the slate
For the words that will make this one writing, great.
Of a sudden, I stop, I am starting to think,
Could it be ~ am I wasting time or maybe ink?
My writes up to the present have brought no
Complaints, yet could it be, a writer I ain’t?
Hear me, my dear readers, I will perish the
Thought. In my mind I’m a writer, I bear no taint.
I’ll go on writing as I have before, the best that
I know of my subject and to make my words flow.
I have no need to hesitate. I’ll write to please
The old and the young and all in between
As long as I’m here and grasses grow green.
Copyright © 2013 Charles E. Frost
June 23, 2013