Writers I
What is it, to be a writer?
Creator of worlds unseen.
Within the sensory winds
Imagination, only.
writing, as an art,
Like a painter's brush,
A programmer's code.
Paints a portrait of what's not there.
Or illuminates the darkened sense,
Light to things unknown.
Creators from nothing,
Truly, in fiction, a personal world.
In fact, interpretation.
Analysis, our own sight.
The writer's trade, financial suicide?
Starving artists are our cousins,
cold, setting in the dark.
Quietly, or loudly, always do we
ply our trade to the masses.
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