It’s passion that steers the pen
an emotion of which I’m void.
I cry out to the Gods to move my hand
but they don’t even seem annoyed.

Why bother, I ask myself?
It’s no crime to be no one.
There are many unread books upon the shelf
like you will be when your years are done.

But should I succumb?
Should I give in?
Is the order of success too tall?
Just to continue is to win
and perhaps there’s more in me after all.