It is not learned in pages of text

Nor spoken from a Man's face

It comes from the whispers of the soul

From the howls of the wind

From the chirp of a bird

From the cry of a wave

They are the characters we hear in our head

Voices of which we imagine 

Thoughts of which we never had until the moment has arrived

Words of the soul are not taught 

But given at birth for us to find at a later time

Now is that time

When we pick up a pen,

Or open a laptop,

Or grab a marker

And let the soul sing