Deciding I would write a book.
For inspiration I would look,
deep in the annals of my mind.
To find, a pathway I may walk,
and talk.
Of every blade of grass I touched,
and iron gates, gone to rust.
Their desolation a mockery,
of all I would aspire to be.
A honest page, would be enough,
just off the cuff, without much thought.
An empathy, that doesn't daunt.
My timid spirit, my raging soul.
One honest page to fullfill my goal.