The Writer's Voice

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To This World



I am but a mystery to this world.
I wonder at times what I am inside.
I hear voices in my heart and head.
I see the pictures of these words.
I want to know myself what they mean.
I am but a mystery to this world.
I pretend that there is no one around me.
I feel the hurt begin to bottle.
I touch the hearts of many others.
I worry I shall never reach my own.
I cry I won't be the person I want to be.
I am but a mystery of this world.
I understand my plans take some time.
I say paint to express before time is out.
I dream of colors yellow, red and blue.
I try to pursue that perfect picture.
I hope then to hang it up one day.
I am but an artist to this world.

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