The world abounds with men and women,
wielding pens mightier and wiser than mine.
Their written word emotes life itself,
while I produce that which is mediocrity defined.
Day after day I struggle to find words with voice,
while They speak the language that transcends all that is man-made.
It is They who are read and revered,
and They who are remembered even when men's memories begin to fade.
Think not that I wish ill of them,
or even envy them their skill.
Respect and awe I bestow upon their work,
and some hope that inspiration be instilled.
Perhaps the future holds promise,
perchance the days will come.
I shall find the golden words that elude me now,
and, God willing, even be read by some.