A writer writes
without ceasing
even his heart runs dry
soul cries in pain
He was made a writer
a blessing and a curse
all in his nib
Words fall from his flesh and bones
hanging onto life
A writer writes
without ceasing
even his heart runs dry
soul cries in pain
He was made a writer
a blessing and a curse
all in his nib
Words fall from his flesh and bones
hanging onto life