the writers

a letter to the writer

Its strange you have to be famous to inspire people, the words of common writers do not appeal to society on a level that's equal,

We too are the masters of worlds worth millions. The creators of forbidden knowledge.

Our pens our pencils and Freedom of speech, is our greatest weapon

A possession comes upon our mind as the words begin to fill an empty page as furniture does a house.

The voice whispers behind our ears,

Some say its ancestors, some say its angels, others dare say its demons.

Its about whatever works for you I guess.

All I know is  We are the inspired, blessed with greatness that outlasts the memories of those that saw us bring words to life.

Modesty is all we have, for we come from the darkness; seen the light; experienced lives of pain; happiness;mistakes; regrets;awaking; betrayal and the pursue of wealth. The drugs take some of us away. The Lord reaches to save us everyday.

You know you are alive when you look down and don't see your body stay behind.

We use the pages to drift us further from touch with this cruel world, were those spreading our dreams and prophecies determine the fates of those trying to be on the next billboard of the new york bestseller.

The longer the years the better the book-or so the legend whispers.

We seek silence and music for we know one word misplaced spoils the whole masterpiece.

We are many, we are known in few.

They say we are the aspiring, but deep down they know who we say we are.

There are billions of novels, poems,plays and songs out there with our names hidden away like forgotten ghosts.

Call us by our true names,

We are not the aspiring; We too are, The Writers.