Why do I write?
It’s an intricate question,
But the answer is simple,
I found a calling within the ink,
A reason for being,
An obsession perhaps,
And so I waltz with quills and vellum,
A giggling rune crafter,
Splashing ink upon dreams and fantasies,
Incubi between the lines,
Chimera of vowels and consonants,
And I’m a capable beast master,
I’ll admit it takes practice,
When I pen these brainchilds,
I’m not showing off,
Not espousing some kind of artsy manifesto,
I simply write because I love it,
I could not see myself any other way.
