I write

I will sing a song of mockingbirds and yell against the wind. The timeless tale has yet to be told, my pen still wet with ink. And so I sit and ponder still, a thought in the night. Of mystery of past’s decisions, and future steps are near. I close my eyes to doubt, she sits upon my bed. Whispering sweet words of sorrow, I will not lend it an ear. I turn instead to the rising sun and feel a familiar hand upon my back. She is there, the one that matters the pact. I sip my drink of amber dreams and write what I write. Not for you or you or you… but because I can.


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