For the Writer

Our voices dance
with the lull of the waves
and dream of worlds
which lie beyond time itself.

The only wish brought
to the ears of falling stars
is the wish to be heard.

But wishes only go so far.

And so we press
ever onward, as we hone
our craft and seek
the audience to which
our story belongs.

Perhaps it’s our childish whimsy,
which brings us hope.

Or perhaps it’s foolishness.

But our hands will continue
to press the pen to paper,
our minds fevered
with stories not our own,
each dying to find release
from the imprisonment
of our minds.