As I look down upon paper and pen,
I realize the power possessed by few men.
The art of the word, the inscription of text,
Which carries with it potent effects.
The pen becomes mightier than the sword
When focused words strike their intended chord.
To think of the words still lost in my pencil,
Demands respect for this crude utensil.
After much trying, I'm sure I will find
That the way to free them is through the mind.
Realizing this, I attempt to convey
In text, that which is difficult to say.
Yet still, words become lost in my throat.
What you might read... was not what I wrote.