We point to have a great big voice.
It however is not by choice.
The typing is the mouth
even though our brains often head South.
It is a complex mess the voice in our heads,
resting with my typing is not an option,
for the words in my head are like a giant concoction.
Easy to get lost in the seamless maze
with no thread to get back amongst all the haze.
The typing however is like my way home,
each letter a signpost telling me that I’m never alone,
For words are my friends and letters are my guide
and so, it’s that I will continue to type with pride.
Can I ever speak with any more vigour
or will my words float endlessly away like a river.
Let’s hope they echo through the mountains and valleys,
To remind you all that they are here to stay,
they will not go away,
they are my voice, not by fluke or coincidence
and not by choice
but they are always mine, mine, mine.
