A surge I feel from within,
When I hold a pen to write.
I have got the power to create,
The tempest is out of sight.
Over the skies I fly freely,
Under the ocean my life lies.
In the concoction of writing,
My breath effortlessly flies.
I preserve my pen for ages,
Only to find it waiting for me.
The symphony of joy is played,
At once,liberating the tied mind.
I behold the shining moon,
It has been emptied all too soon.
With vigor I shun bad thoughts,
I perceive equality from the start.
In the altar of truth so soft,
I take rest and hear a melody strong.
The cool breeze strokes my hand,
Supporting the journey all along.

Tags: Writing, Poem

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