When the hailing evaporating from my ocean of love for our craft settles,
rains of me being heartless reigns in the heart of men and later settles.
You can call me whatever you want to but I’ll never pickup until you propagate how focused I am as a writer.
The disses can come in me but in me I see their infertilness.
The discouragements can smile at me but to me they’re faceless
You can call me whatever you want to but I’ll never pickup until you propagate how focused I’m as a writer.
First sermon must be about how priceless my ink is.
Second sermon?
Mmmmmm talk about how hard I’m on those not focused on their inks.
Regardless the functions we loose,
Not doubting the things the pen can do,
We press the tip still on the pad,
That even if we do not benefit,
A piece can exist for other’s profit!
Even on a coin with duplicated faces on both sides,
negativism will never win a toss.
Why then should our inks loose focus?
Even when the claws of death pierce,
There are those who still fare,
In the midst of despair,
A lot will disappear,
but a writer, who is a writer,
such hold till it’s the best.
Awards and fame.
Applause and shame.
All these are in the game,
Positive impact on our audience is the course.
Never loose your focus.
It’s the best course you can ply.
THE HERALD
