Forget not the writer in you.
He’s still around,
just off in his own world –
neglected by your husbandliness,
your constrictingly-employed state of daily affairs,
your life which has moved so fast to a place you always wanted to be,
yet didn’t think to imagine the effects on him.
In days gone by his ponderances would fill pages:
extracts from a life of solitude,
days spent under sunny skies,
moments atop buildings,
secluded from the world,
yet accompanied by all he needed.
Peace and warmth were the order of the day,
thoughts were always present,
the mental treadmill that kept his mind ever-active.
And a heart which longed
for companionship of the most intimate kind,
a soul that yearned to be alongside one who would embrace him for all that he was,
and all that he could be.
Many plans he made,
of improving himself –
but many a time,
plans fell flat
when laziness and untidiness strangulated consistency,
and pushed him back to the familiarity of never finishing what he started.
Memories he’d record,
Accounts he’d share with others,
Lessons learned and taught,
relaying to others the wisdom bestowed on him by his All-Wise Teacher.
Patience he found:
He learnt to live without that which he desired most,
and waited until it was granted to him in the time and way it was destined;
And he spoke jubilantly to others, when his dream was manifested before his eyes;
He shared with them the exhilaration of reaching a goal so many aspire to,
and hoped he could be of help to them,
passing on what formed inside him and flowed out in rivers of inspiration.
And now, half a year later,
he sits in a new life,
sometimes restricted by the volume of busyness,
sometimes pulled down by the burden of adult-hood,
but still with the desire to share with the world that which must be expressed from inside him;
Once again ready to let the words flow:
of work and waste
of eagerness to return to the station he once held with his Lord.
The writer in you still remains…
He just needs the chance to come out and play.