Words are in Fact the Mightiest of All

He begins, pen up and ready to write,
A though fills his head, as fast as light.
He shuffles the blank pages, ready to put ink on paper,
Little does he know he will be judged later.
They say that the pen is mightier than the sword,
And that is not a lie until time passes by, and Lord,
The pages are new and clean crisp,
And now nothing but an old wish,
Made by some young, or even old writer,
And as time passes by his breath falls even lighter,
Until all that is left is the memoir of his creative sense,
Pressed into the now filled pages as we reminisce,
On what little was known of him,
At the time of his unknown work of hymns.
What was taken for granted so many years ago,
Is now practically worshiped among us so,
But he is no longer here today,
And there are no books left from his day.
Since, the criticisms that he faced,
Made him think his work a waste,
Even though his words are made of velvet ribbons,
He has nothing left of him that he could have given.
Because words are actually mightier than the pen,
And the book is all that we have left of him.
Because he died so long ago,
Thinking his book was a waste of show.
And how I wish he could have known that how,
People realize his talent, and are left begging for more now.

-Autumn Childress