Poetry

Because I Must (#1633)

I don’t write for money or fame,
But because it’s a desire that I can’t tame,
The words call to me, and I must obey,
Like a potter called to shape their clay,
Why they’ve chosen me, I’ll never know,
It’s like asking why the winds blow,
Such is the gift of storytelling and verse,
It’s as much a blessing as a curse,
Writing has been part of me since boyhood,
I wouldn’t change it even if I could,
Despite the hardship and how I complain,
Without writing, I’d likely go insane,

Any Thoughts?

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