' WHY DO I WRITE?'

The pen is what I know bast,
a talent from above,
pen is my pride, my identity my dignity.

As a mother denies not the suckling
from the milk that quenches hunger.

What can tho do...? My pen is  wailing
and shivering longing for my touch....
Long enough I denied her it's warm touch...
Poor bard what other joy is left
than quenching the thirst of my soul?

Poem, the only way I can show myself,
express myself with no critics reaching my bones.

Not that I restrict my pen...
But I write plain so the mustard seed of knowledge
sees through the salvation of my pen.

I spill my ink not for recognition or applauses
for I guard every drop of my ink
with the unbuilt emotions that follows in.

Like every other being created with that special talents,
mine came very unique....,
weather discovered or not,
I stand with my voice my pen.

My pen mightier than thy greatest sword.
Even if  condemned for the truth,
my pen speaks.
Will write with my blood in absence of my pen.

My big friendly giant in handy form,
my pen my life
my pen my voice.

Adaghe Deborah Claire.

This poet personae of this piece says she writes because of the hunger to do so, hereby expressing herself.