Words are surrounding me;

Rhetorical devices fill the air.

I sit solemnly and think

Organizing my thoughts into linear patterns

I grope my subconscious blindly

Trying to grasp a concept to spark new ideas

Because that is the true process of art

Like a flower, thoughts start as seeds

But with nourishment and attention

They will grow into something beautiful

Something that will delight society for years to come

Something that will please me

They say that every man is his biggest critic

But is it truly criticism?

I call it drive

The desire to create a work worth boasting about

One I can be proud of

My words are my legacy

Because when I am gone

When I have left this Earth

And am forever mute

My poetry and my verses

My scrambled and haphazardly gathered thoughts

And all of my completed stories and documents

Beautiful or terrible

Will be what I am remembered by