A timeless melody, as a friend tells me,
Each emphasis purposeful, each syllable a duty.
Weaved and woven like a web, it can be the face of an enemy,
Or a gentle reminder of youth, or a tale of an apple and heresy.
The words are the bullets, your pen is the gun,
You can write about losses that are now won.
You can frolic in feelings of plenty,
And remind yourself life isn’t empty.
If the tale is of death, you gave it life.
If the tale is of glee, you took out the strife.
If life is the problem, your work is a remedy.
If it’s used correctly, then words are a melody.
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