The lost and the restless; those in doubt

People who can't ever get themselves out

Tied up by bonds forcing them back

Can't make up for anything they're said to lack

Emotions on high; tears in streams

Broken souls giving up on their dreams

For those that are trying so badly to fight

This, my friend, is the truth of why I write.

The power of nature; burning so wild

People who imagine as if they're a child

Tied in the vines of a meadow's red roses

Can't escape the world living under their noses

Emotions of beauty and goodness in all

Broken limbs mean nothing when they fall

For these human beings who can always smile

This, good sir, makes writing worthwhile.