Master of the pen,
Lord of the blank piece of paper,
A Wizard wielding magic,
With words and sentences,
Creating something from nothing
With a sheer stroke of a pen in her hand.
Will you write me sunshines,
Or how someone moves forward,
Rather than stay behind,
Or about lush meadows,
And how flowers bloom,
For my ears long for some comforting words,
That heals and give inspiration,
Will you help me,
And come be my light?
A reply came about at about the early tweak of morning,
“For that you need someone that is accustomed to win,
And that’s not me,
I’d love to help but,
My words are for stuff
Accustomed to the night.