Reasoning

Why do I write with so much pain,
When all it is making me hurt,
And I have only one heart to offer.
What is a name,
When there are so many greater
Than mine.
The use of a pen,
Is only as good as its writer.

But in many cases the pen can make the man,
Like Milton, Coleridge, and Wordsworth
Their own ambitions were not enough
Yet the mere sight
Of a blank sheet—
Gave rise to the simplest words
In such beautiful contrast
Of one another.

Who’s place is it to say,
Where ambition turns to greatness

And black ink gives light to life.
Live in this—
Being free on just a whispered word.