Pens and Pages

Of years of solitude And a final downpour, Of dreams broken And all the pieces ashore, I wondered where went that river Of all the possibilities. The pen was lying dead On a blank paper; The ink overflown Drenched my soul; I wondered if I could ever make right The massacre I left behind. I wondered if I could Ever do what's right. They told me I was a writer And that made my life.