Work Text:
For The Writer
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From the moment that we make the choice,
And our asses drop into our chairs,
Behind the desk, facing the paper,
Or the monitor that stares,
Our lives belong to something else,
An entity strong and true.
Who opens the door of thought and creation
But doesn't control what comes through.
We pick up the pen, or begin to type,
And believe all the questions will be answered.
Lovely and terrible, alive and aware,
Seductive, it waits in the dark
For the portal to open in paper or screen,
Eager to feed on a spark.
The catalyst that only our dreams can provide
Is what makes the entity live.
And the stronger the flame that we offer,
The more it seems able to give.
We pick up the pen, or begin to type,
And believe all the questions will be answered.
Is its name inspiration? This could well be right,
For ever have men named it so.
Imagination is closer to hitting the mark,
But the truth, we are not meant to know.
For man is too curious, and if given the chance,
He would know all there is to be known,
And in doing so shatter all magic life holds,
And we'd soon find humanity's name writ in stone.
So we pick up the pen, or begin to type,
And believe all the questions will be answered.