I’ve met those who spurn
Dreamers and wordsmiths.
They label us as losers,
Mere souls who smoke and write.
They assume we scribble for excess time,
No duties, no tasks to bind.
But why do we wield the pen?
We write to ponder,
To grasp and unravel.
You’re partly right:
We are the mad, the seekers,
Lost within the storm,
Spilling our essence onto the page,
Yearning for a flicker of comprehension.
Not for the world do we write.
For ourselves alone, we write.
