The Old Writer’s Story
A pen in hand, paper on the desk. Laptop for many, computer for some. The Writer pens down his story. Probably, he is a legend to some but a mystery to many. He solves puzzles and rhymes the world never knew.
He forms words from his creative analytical thoughts. He poses as a threat to those he types against, those who criticize his creative mindset.
Truly, The Pen 🖊️🖋️ is Mightier than The Sword 🗡️⚔️.
He is relentless. His words speak for him and his books are loud volumes for him. He is a stoic of his own making. He spends the night creating content full of ideas. In the day he researches, he studies throughout.
His noisy mind never rests even in his sleep. He makes the noise in his mind count and the voices in his head he makes sure works for him. His soul is restless and his spirit daunting. His heart is troubled because he is not where he wants to be.
The Writer’s life is like a nightmarish dream squashed in the making. He is not popular like the musician neither is he wealthy like the footballer but, the world will never remember to forget the man who lifted the world with just a pen and a paper.
Neither will he be forgotten, the man who sparks the lightning fire sleeping in many with his writing. The writer motivates and inspires, his aim is to create a world filled with achievers, his purpose is to ignite a spark dormant in a brain that will change the world.
Sometimes his voice dies unheard in his books but even the heavens shall testify that God noticed his presence. Even though he may go unnoticed, the Devil himself will surely bow to the old poor quiet writer who lived by the River side.
Though he isn’t famous like the President of the United States, the River Goddess herself flaps her fins for the old poor lonely writer who never stopped pursuing his dreams.
The Old Writer puffs his pipe, allowing the smoke to sink into his spine then releases it into thin air while reminiscing; maybe God should have made him a star because he wants the Fame.
He moves and moves, round and around a circus, like a circle, confused bout where to go, sometimes he refers to smoking, though rough around the edges he still releases another masterpiece yet unknown to the world.
With his cup of coffee on his table, his puppy by his side, the Old Writer refuses to bow to the pressure of hard living.
Tough times never last but tough people do. Eventually, man is nothing and nothing lasts forever. The Old Writer dies unheard.
Years and years to come his dusty old fables, poems, articles and stories are discovered and reintegrated into society. A message that will be passed onto generations to come.
The once unknown Old Writer becomes celebrated by a generation that never knew his existence.
Indeed, the Old Writer’s tale is a sad one to tell. His life was a tough one. And though his books were so profound; he found comfort in death.
Keep on writing young writers. Keep on keeping on. Though our words and voices pass away unheard; the next generations will celebrate our revelations.
Our voices will surely echo, our words will resonate, our books will ring a bell so loud either in this life or in the next to come.
