The days flew by, I don't know why. They were here just yesterday.
Perhaps I should die, curl up and sigh. Life's lessons are short lived anyway.
My computer is no tutor, 'tis more like a looter, for its appetite flies too quickly.
I'm tempted to cry, but my eyes stay dry. It's too late to avoid turning sickly.
But why can't I write, and put up a fight, for what my heart truly desires?
Confidence, I'm sure, as I grow and mature, is facing my passions and fires.
It's not just an art, it burns in my heart; even the Spirit of life is within me.
It yearns to get out, to whisper, to shout, and tell all it's sweeter than honey.
With purpose I live, my life's mission and give, building upon solid ground.
In thoughts I was tossed, but did not get lost, in words by which I was found.
These days are too short, to sit idly in court, judging how time should be spent.
In the writing I do, giving myself to you, I know every moment was meant.
Such was my life, empty grasping and strife, to experience the worldly decoy.
But now I know peace, love will never cease, flowing in crisp rivers of joy.
More than a tool, writing's a jewel, and lifts my soul to the sky.
To Him be glory, as I write my story, for He is the reason why.