Not one, with pen in hand, has escaped.

All the way from broken scrolls to digital mass
We witness the same pattern among them all
Walk a little way
And you too shall find the difference

As Solomon once proclaimed
“There is no end to the making of books”
Even now we face the challenge
Between the Authentic Writer and the unbridled egomaniac

They who write by right
Are witnesses to the hidden world
Made light to the history
Of human denial and vanity

It is as if they truly wish to close their eyes
Yet are unable to look away from the blinding truth
Of all that no other will speak
Haunting them instead day and night

It is that they wish Not to be right
Or correct or great
For a real writer knows there is no more isolated place
Than to be right about their prophetic vision

A writer is not worth their worth
From the making of large words
Or the conception of intellectual babble
Not even in the formation of knowledge

A writer finds no glory in the depths they must traverse
There is no satisfaction in the emotional substance of others
They must carry
In order to proclaim the message given to them

For inside them is a restless spirit
Boiling a frustrated blood
Irritating the skin
Unless the command is obeyed

Driven ruthlessly is the absolute need to speak
Given not only by the anger of the lower worlds
But also by the transformation of the highest heavens
A writer stands in both places

There they question the limits of their own mind
All the while knowing their unachievable task
To express the inexpressible spirit of all things
Yet they must do so to survive

It is as if there is a dagger in the heart
Turning slowly to the result of agony
And then when pen is finally put to paper
The blade is removed bringing whole relief

Oh yes there are those who write for fame alone
And those who write for money only
Or those who write for emotional pomp
Establishing the need for terminal uniqueness

But the masters of old even till today
Are not of such minds
For they would rather be silent
Knowing always they cannot

Like Jonah
So many wish to run away
Only to find their fate worse
If they do not do the work put before them

And as the true glory of the unknown worlds
Offers the gift of hope and faith
So too does the demon of the dark
Become a student’s asset of experience

Who can speak to the common man or woman
Without knowing the space between life and death?
Who can guide the paths of men
Without walking them all beforehand?

Think to the great Poets and Minds
Think to the great Romantics and Heartfelt Messengers
Think to the great Teachers and Philosophers
Remember the Prophets and Preachers

See how they have lasted the forgetfulness of time
And there you will find the Writers
Tasked by all that is greater than them
To speak the words of the day for all people

Small men have tried to snuff out the words of the Authentic Witness
Through burning and banishing and condemning
And in doing so have put righteousness to the blade
And arrogantly made war with their own God

But the writer cannot stand for such things
As they cannot not allow the darkness to win
For it is a far greater hell to ignore the truth before them
Than to perish at the hands of opportunistic men

This stands as the division
Between the Witness of life and death
And the words of the fluff mongers
So that we discover what you already know

Just as much as the seeker of wisdom
Does seek wisdom
So too does the writer of the questions of wisdom
Seek revelations

For they bring forth a puzzle of a million unimaginable pieces
Locked firmly inside their very core
Trying to unleash a reasonable picture
Making sense of it all

And to them who have come before us and they who shall come after
There can be no alternate path
It is for them a calling they did not seek
Yet given to them undeniably

We thank them all for remembering us.

Ryan o0o


All Words and Images 
Copyright © 2014 Ryan Ranney – Ranney Studios
“A Manic Momet” Graphical Painting/Image ©2004
All Rights Reserved