Each word holds a certain weight,

Word upon word, you build

Until all together they create

An order, waiting to be filled

A writer wants nothing more

Than to be read, but by who?

Who is it they are writing for?

Is it for me? For you?

Perhaps their feelings are mixed,

They want everyone to read it

To love it, to be transfixed

But they also want it a secret

Because with the power

Of their words and thoughts,

Is the fear of the hour

When love finally rots.

The writer is a hero at a time,

But his followers can  

Quickly turn on a dime,

Making him a hated man.

Words may spark dreams in some,

Though others may only loathe.

So beware writers as you press on,

As your work is loved and hated both.