Things that stop my writing are man-made,
Like the loss of power and stuff.
But my words are stored where these can't invade
In there, I have power enough.
Feelings may color images I write,
Though some who read and comment may drain.
I've learned not to allow this to mar my sight
For my canvas, I alone choose the grain.
Time is one limitation I learned to face
And I see in my case, there's no extension.
So I let my words flow as I age in grace
With no force or demands, I live this passion.
A writer is only bound by the fences he makes
These are the ones he allows to take over.
But writing is an art that no matter what it takes
It will come out, it cannot be stifled.....ever.
Copyright © Cynthia Buhain-Baello ~~~08.24.15
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem