When it comes to writing
I can only think
Of the ways in which one could perceive
My thoughts scattered aimlessly
Across this paper, scrawled in ink

Only inspired from within
My own words forcing this pen
To tell of experiences; will only begin
When an act far outstands the rest
Its meaningfulness put to a test

Who can judge another’s thoughts?
Whose ways of life cannot be taught
Only learned by qualities sought
By one who dreams like others ought

Not one but an author knows
The words from which the steady hand flows
Which only belong to him and his pen
Due to his inspiration from within