The Writing Poem

I am sitting here in the past
typing these words
and there you are in the future
reading them on a screen.

We're not in the same room,
you don't even hear my voice
Technically, I never said
these words at all.

These ideas are
being channeled 
through my soul,
to yours

I can't take credit 
for writing them,
and you can't take credit 
for reading them.

Together,
we are bound
in a moment of time,
just long enough
for your eyeballs 
to scroll
and scan
and scroll
and scan, 
these thoughts that I 
have recorded for you
once upon a time ago.

Once upon a time,
there was a pain 
in my chest.
I could not face it
so instead 
numbed it good
every way I could.

And one day, the thoughts
swirled up into 
a heap of dust!
It dulled my brain
and exaggerated my lust.

I was lost
in the heap 
of ideas
and felt robbed 
of emotions.
I locked myself up
and threw 
away 
the 
key.

But then one day
there was a paper
and next to it 
a ballpoint pen!
A soul of light 
bounced through 
the window 
of my eye.

"Write, write" a voice then said
"document these thoughts
for when they're on paper
they stop being mindblocks.

And through your fingers,
your demons will rise
and you shall transmute 
them into fine 
tunes 
and 
images.

And if someone happens
to read them one day
then they too shall
dance with the melodies,
exorcize their maladies,
and one day the world
will be
healed."

And if not,
well then at least
we are doing
magic.