Pen and Paper
I am the slave,
the pen is my master.
It commands me to write,
more and more, faster and faster.
The paper is calling,
it’s screaming my name.
Why do they force me,
have they no shame?
Forced are my thoughts,
through the pen they do flow.
Who are they to coerce,
are they friends, are they foe?
I wish to stop now,
asylum I do seek.
For my hand does grow tired,
as well my mind grows weak.
But they won’t allow me to stop,
there’s no ending in sight.
They demand I continue,
so I shall… write, write, write.
I Write the Songs
I love music, but I’ve never been much of a country music fan because I always found it to be too simplistic. I'm not trying to demean country music here; I'm only explaining what formed my connection to music. Classical music has always been my favorite, and I believe it is due to the sophistication. At a young age, I became fascinated by the fact that Beethoven composed his Fifth Symphony after he became deaf. The symphony features a four-note motif often referred to as “fate knocking at the [...]
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