This odd road I take to write

This is what I do
for you:

I clobber words together
with every letter
to tell you what my story's about,
then I put emotion behind them
and try to rhyme them
as I speak and shout.

I seek out really sad stories
and old former glories
and retell them as if it was a game,
or I let out my voices
that give horrible choices
and publish it all in my name.

I look on through eyes
that have seen some of life's big lies
and gaze at beauty with fixation,
then I dream them with colour
in the life of another
and let them explore all nations.

I let life flow by,
never stopping to cry,
so that great things explode onto page,
and I deal with higher things
without a tether, net or wings
as to try to surpass my own age.

So just keep on reading my journey's road
as I go on on abroad,
so that I will continue my tale,
because when I finally fail to live,
whether because of time or shiv,
the ideas will go on, without fail.

:And this is what you see
for me.