The letters flow freely from the pen
Indelible imprint on paper
Little by little the letters form words
And they tell a story
Like a beautiful melody
Each tune in perfect harmony
A story about time and seasons
Of what was, what is and what is to come
A prophecy you might say
But like every choreography
Even the ones in synchronisation
It will all come to an end
For every story has a beginning and an ending
Just like this poem
But while the middle pages of this life is still ongoing
The pen will keep spinning out words with ink on paper
A form of expression,
The perfect symphony for the writer
