Writing is the best friend a speaker has,
It allows the writer to vent out his anguish,
It expresses his will and desire,
It lays him open and vulnerable to speechlessness.
The writer wants an audience,
The writer wants his reader,
Even though, it may be just one,
One who is willing to listen to him,
One who does not really evaluate him,
But one who tries to understand,
What he wants to convey.
If there is no audience,
He feels pain,
One which only he can feel,
And one which his words can't describe,
Because he knows he loved reading what he wrote.
The pain is not of lacking the audience,
But of being walked upon like a street.
There is but still the want,
The long awaited chant,
Of fame which he has seen through his eyes,
Of wealth he has accumulated through his words,
Of women he has won in his charismatic trance.
But he knows,
There is no hope,
In the dark,
To meet that ray of light.
But there is a feeling,
Not of remorse but of joy,
For he knows that when one who feels,
Reads, lives and breathes what the writer wants to speak,
It is then that the writer speaks and wants an audience.