Every Word That I Write

I feel I’ve walked for two thousand miles;
nearly two million words; my destination;
a quest of hundreds of thousands of trials;
before death becomes my vacation.

Several have told me; numbers mean nothing;
only the quality of writing is germane;
and yet, my writing keeps huffing and puffing;
while the numbers are becoming insane.

How can an old man; in my physical condition;
type so many words with arthritic hands;
surely I’ll eventually succumb to mere attrition;
in spite of my best laid plans.

My journey has nothing to do with distance;
my typewriter requires hands; not feet;
my greatest obstacle is emotional resistance;
where destiny and determination meet.

There are some who say I’ve become obsessed;
believing I have something worthwhile to say;
instead; deep within me; I feel I’ve been blessed;
how dare I consider; just walking away.

Although I feel given no physical destination;
within my mind; I’m given a goal;
I feel almost as though I’m taking dictation;
God’s whispers of love to the soul.

Whether, in my journey; I fail or succeed;
I think of ones facing an endless night;
if my words give solace to someone in need;
it is worth every word that I write.

Monty 8/17/24. # 2,280