Write on, my Friends, Write on.
May the ties that bind between paper and scribe, keep us together through storm and tide.
Those bitter ships have a purpose, I’m told.
Those broken vessels have memories that hold.
Between rusty nails and skeleton bones; those windy whistles say, ‘you’re not alone’.
Many are cast to this sea of conclusion; there is no end to the evolution.
For sunsets melting on the ocean crest remind us to always write our best.
Perhaps the words get tangled with time; perhaps they were never really meant to rhyme.
Yet breathe they did as we gave them life; we cut the ropes with rusty knife.
We set them free to prance about, with hopes that others might figure us out.
What makes us tick through time with paper and pen?
Who can remember a time without them?
Oh, Writers, my Friends, I am so glad to know; that you hear the voices as well from below.
Speak to me now and tell me your wishes, forget about laundry, vacuuming, dishes.
This is the now and I share it with you. Two ships in the night full of sunset hue.