Does it half to rhyme,
or even make sense?
Does it half to have form,
or even have any meaning?
Can I just write to waster paper?
Can I think but still be mindless?
Should I just give up and not even care?
Should I work hard for a dream I can't reach?
Words on sheets may not be the wealth of life,
but is a way to escape what can not be said.
They have meanings far more than anything.
They make emotion, they make understanding.
So as I start my notebook, and write my thoughts,
make up those words that will form great meaning.
My notebook, with no lines, just empty pages,
as a guide for me to explore.
But,
I shall not be scared or hide anything from this.
This, these, those ahead; pages that d.
For my mind to think, my pencil shall compose and
my, yes my destiny is written.