There May Be Something to This Writing Thing After All

Is it strange that we living beings
Search for meaning on silver screens?
Or that we scan ink spots printed neatly on paper
To find the truth of our existence?
Until I wrote these questions, I didn’t know.
Now, my answer is no.
Each one of us contains some piece of the truth.
Small or large, dim or bright, quiet or deafening
The answers are there, waiting to be found.
The hand that guides paint across a canvas
Or sets a pen scribbling along an empty page,
The visions of love, grief, life, death, despair, redemption
That transform a screen into moving displays of light and magic—
These are attempts to shout truth to the world
To find the answers hidden in our souls
And scream them to the heavens
These are explorations of the unknown.
Once begun, there is no knowing what end will come.

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