Why do we write? Why do we paint? Why do we create?

The poet doesn’t cry. He writes the misery of life to paper. He writes about days of joy.

He wrote about memories and kisses. Some say. Poets love words more than love.

I adore the artist. With tender fingers, they create vision of places, visions of faces and visions of twisted thoughts. They speak. Painters are madmen, madwomen. They can see too much in everything.

Us who love to write. We love to fall into the folly of life. Poets love to paint words to create tears, to create laughter and remind us. Live more, dance more and drink more.

I believe we need the writers, we need the poets and we need the artist. They create left-over memories. We need to remember.

My favorite are the war poets, writers who write of the ugliness of war. We need these memories. Maybe we won’t repeat them?

Coyote