Why?

There is a place I know,

Where a crevice of ideas

bleed and become stars.

where there is a thunder in my chest

and my thoughts can't seem to rest.

that is where I go.

In a language,

not tongue

but

p a p e r

and

i n k

to paint scenes

watching pictures

melodies

orchestras

exist in one's head.

ask why i write

i'll laugh

the fool who asks

not know the thrill sought

of a world

dripping down a flood of chaos

from fingers

he who creates

holds the most power

mankind has known