The writer's burden

To paint the mangle

And live all the weariness

To wear the pain and loss

Share the joy and happiness

Uneasy concoction for the soul

Like the earth under every weight

So too the writer must bear his fate

Words, like tides beating against the mind

Solitude, crowd, none has an antidote

The cure is itself the ailment

To tell the tales even when it hurts

To be the eyes and ears for all

And not be in the picture at all

The burden, the freedom

The battle with folly and wisdom

The writer, his words, his heart.

Like a sword sharpened for art

The writer's burden with words

Only the heart and the ink knows



P.S. I have been away from this section for awhile I hope I can participate more and drink in beautiful writings as used to be in times of yore.