The writers paradox

Words , words , more words

Swirling round me ,

Trickling through my pen ,

And slowly engrossing me .

Its easy to spin words

Weaving them to a story ,

There are plenty of people ,

Living lives in misery.

And the world loves tragedy ,

As long as the woes are not theirs ,

Dear writer you forget

Your own fate has its ways

You dare not call her muse

You  thrive on making use

Of someone elses words

Accepting her talent hurds?

My dear a success you shall be

You shall go very far

The further you are away

The less will people scar

We all have our breaks  ,

We all have our starts ,

But we all also need sleep

Won’t help us to weep

Line up your cards

Read the lines in your cards,

Emblazoned with  cardboard cutout hearts

And read them well indeed,

My  words were your story

Pity you didn’t have enough feed

But surely there will be another

For whom you will be a muse

Just another faceless person

Another story to amuse

And you shall remember

Ah,yes you shall remember

I pray not in pain ,never in pain

Sorry, this is  dictum of the world ,

no gain without  any  pain.

I will be wiser now

Thank you  all for that

But I choose heart ethics over fame

My pain can vouch for that .