This Paper Begs: A Poem

To supply it with nourishing ink

Am I brave enough to ignore my tormentors cry?

Is it a demonic or saintly link?

Between the immortal and my mind's eye?

Hours I scribe, endless with labor

Nobody understands my hopeless terror

But still I write with my ink and paper

Hungry with thoughts of the truth I savor

The line of life is winding and lengthy

But the masses would have one believe,

The line of life is straight, smooth and weighty

For the system has vanished from my view and sight

I find the line of life is broad and twisted

The need to write supersedes the lust for acceptance

The obsession for truth overruns the passion of immortality

My words say much that I cannot

But it's your ears which must hear

The truth that I have sought