Why I Write

So I’ve been playing with homophones for the past couple days and this is the poem I came up with.
 

 
You’ll see it when I walk the aisle
Pens will blaze and you know I’ll
Shed my poetry like fur
While keeping fresh like winter fir
 
And with the sunrise in the morning
We will all be busy mourning
For all of those who will be missed
As our tears fade to morning mist
 
Her tears will fall as she raise her veil
As the morning sun greets the vale
And clouds roll in bringing rain
The end of me and of my reign
 
This is the story that I sell
My mind is like my prison cell
The bars in here aren’t made of metal
But broken in by my own mettle
 
I’m not famous, not an heir
But writing comes to me like air
A perfect pillow without a seam
My writing is more than it may seem
 
I tell you all what I have seen
Just like a play at end of scene
I’ve seen so many exit stage right
And that is why I choose to write.
 
©2013 Alex Hicks

4 thoughts on “Why I Write

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