Precociously placed pen strokes are the only sound that
ripple through the night,
draining my soul of the restless thoughts,
that cluster in my mind,
and stir me in my sleep.

The moon my only companion,
perched outside my windowsill,
resting high in the sky.
The lonely, placid disc,
Unaccompanied by any other light.
It alone resists the darkness,
to bring light to the night.
Thrusting its shimmering light down on me.
Casting a soft, yellow glow around my paper.
Lighting the path my pen follows.

And with every word I pour onto my paper,
my mind becomes freer of these thoughts,
but only release them unto the world.
So others must bare their burden.
For with each stroke of my mighty pen,
I in vision the consequences
That will soon follow.
I defy them with,
my own free will.