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I used to write lots of poems. They weren't very good at first, but I got better. Now I feel no inspiration. I want to be inspired to write again. Something to touch the heart and soul. I want to go through emotions I can only dream of feeling, and to explore places I've only seen in my wildest dreams. I now write stories, creating characters that no one has ever thought of before, but nothing can compare to the wonderful release given to me by poetry, a world where words flow like warm honey and every sound comes clear and beautiful as liquid silver. Where has the happiness gone? Where is the beauty and pain that served as my muse. If I could not write, my life would be as ash. If I could not sing, I may as well be dead. I'm glad for the gifts of poetry, storeys and song. The music that lifts the soul, expressed in so many ways. A beauty to great for words alone. His soul guides me to write what I do, He is the artist, I am His brush, and music..... music holds the magic that is his paint.