A light, a flame, a candle – vision to a man.
Under which to write, to ponder ones endless queries.
A hand of guidance throughout the world.
Touched by the ephemeral flickering words.
Bringing calmness from calamity.
Expression of the mind within ones prose.
Creating lands of sorrow, and lands of greed.
Ever grasping towards some elusive, primitive need.
And yet, throughout, the flame burns bright.
Hands of love; hands of courage.
Written, entwined within one man’s eternal sufferance.
For the masses to read. Stifling their petulant utterance.
It is with this, he sits;
And it is with this, he writes.
‘Till the break of dawn; and through the dark of night.
Sufficing that desire, that pleasure,
That simple need to write.