Diverse emotions stimulate my senses.  Endless visions, some unrepeatable.  A pen unable to word my thoughts.  A clock hustling me to know.   
Is the difficulty of writing, in the lonely moments endured, waiting for the right words to find their way out?   
Or is it the lonely efforts of the mind and soul, which turns people away?   
A million words are born to every emotion.  And a million emotions to every word.   
The man of deliverance is the writer, as for him life is loneliness.