Writing: When I Write

When I write from my heart,
There is passion, purity of thought and love.

When I write from my mind,
There are words, copious, empty, unfeeling words,
Totally devoid of soul.

When I write from my heart,
I am inspired.
I cannot put my pen down,
Until that which has been given to me has been written
In whatever format it has been received.

When I write from my mind,
Nothing flows freely;
I have no compulsion to write.
What I write has no meaning or significance.
It is merely word upon word.

When I write from my heart,
It has value to me, even if not to anyone else.

When I write from my mind,
It is like marching mile after mile,
Going nowhere, doing nothing, with no purpose in mind.

When I write from my heart,
It holds promise, a future, a light, a life to behold.

When I write from my mind,
It is like a blank slate of nothingness.
"Is this a tabula rasa?" I wonder.

When I write from my heart,
There is a quickening, an innate desire to reach that next horizon,
Beyond some goal or desire; to take one step more.

When I write from my mind,
It is as if there is a wall, no doorway,
Not even a window to go through.

When I write from my heart,
There is a stirring, a gentle release,
A flowing river of thought upon thought,
So vast that it cannot be contained.

When I write from my mind,
I see nothing; a void waiting, needing to be filled
From the depths of my heart, when I write.

Writing from the heart has no void.