Why Do I Write?

A question worth its curious tone,

My pen can gift me a brighter throne.

I write and write till my heart,

Feel a feather has hued its part.

My eager fingers dance in ink,

As my brain with grooves can think.

A worthy theme; few lines along,

My fervent thoughts can sing a song.

It gives me flecks of broken joy,

As my innocent childhood toys.

A bubbly soul that lives within,

Cherishes words that hold my grin.

My pen and I with brocaded hours,

Paint those sheets with vibrant flowers. 

They came blank but hold my words,

Sharper than those royal swords.

Hear the whispers; stress thy ears,

My heart has a voice draped in prayers.

I pray to the souls that guide my thoughts, 

Into the pages of sorted plots.

I rhyme words; a poem a write, 

Glowing lines in divine lights. 

I know the truth; magical vibes,

I'll still write with broken knives.

Stop the game; say my name,

My soul knows nothing but its frame.

The subtle body through the air of God,

Will leave one day for His divine abode.

My words that hued a thousand hearts,

Will linger here in golden parts.

They will make you cry or smile,

But guide you truly through every mile.