Lucky is the man,
Whose pages lie unwritten,
Foolish are the ones,
Who are writing just to fill them,
So meaningless and hollow,
Indeed it’s nothing which they fear,
But once the paper’s skin is broken,
The marks will never disappear,
Be close companions with your emptiness,
And you will have a friend of gold,
And every word will be born naturally,
From the womb inside your soul,
For each new sheet of solitude,
Is an essence to withstand,
To let your tale be written,
By the heart before the hand,
And when the time will finally come,
To share the story you now write,
May you find a cherished moment,
In every letter of your life.
More at http://www.newbornband.com.
