There are secrets you can't see or know
until you begin writing.
Your pen opens the world
like a key unlocking a door.
Each page is like an empty canyon
waiting for the echo of your voice
to fill it.
Sitting at your desk is like watching
the waves of the sea, waiting for them
to bring the mysteries of the deep to the surface
so you can sort through shells and seaweed,
sea glass and stones, and find whatever
your eye deems worth saving.
Paper is like sand
until time washes them away
like footprints on the beach.
We are here, then gone.
And all that's left behind
are these words
which someone may--
or may not -- find