I woke up today, away from last night
A sun dazzling, a day beckoning
The little voice said inside
"Today I shall write."
"But wait," another murmur opined
"What difference could it make?
The world would go on fine
Even if you wrote today."
"They still would work nine to five
Sleep from night till morn
Waiting all their lives for nothing
Then die for others to mourn."
"The fighting ones would still fight
The rest cry on in vain
People grow ill, they grow sad
They lose hope, they become bad."
"Really, all has been heard and read
They know everything before it's said
Life already is set in its ways
And thus leads on, days into days."
"So I ask again, what difference could it make?
Even if you wrote today."
I listened, nodded, smiled
Indeed, what difference could it make?
My rose-tinted glasses have long dulled
My mind sagged, clumsy, lulled
Trembling I picked the pen
And it became clear as a crystal sea
Gently I wrote the voice away
And that made all the difference...for me.
