Should I bring this undue strain?

Upon myself like the pouring rain?

Is it for fame? Iis it for shame?

Should I take part in such a game

Racking my brain day in day out

Searching for stuff to write about

Am I inspired yet?

No, I better wait

For that moment that is perfect!

All these "writers" have dreamt about

Why should I write when I can talk?

Causing those words run amuck?

I'm no writer, I've never been

Can't miss a place you've never seen.

"Writers are born, never made!"

Echoed the words inside my head.

And then one day I sat alone

Thinking about where life had gone

I often did in pensive mood

Staring blank eyes all glued

Began forming words and phrases

And feeling them with all my senses

"This is it", I said

"What kept me up laying in bed

The muse, that elusive muse,

All good writers are bound to use"

Started to write with joyous laughter

And all the passion I could muster

I realized then we are all writers

We just need to put those words to papers

CHEREKA