There is much that we writers like to write. If you ask me we write too much to satisfy our egos, too much to stroke our indulgences, all the while, the world slides into depression and anxiety. Is there nothing writers can do? I think we could at least try.
Impulse is a form of greed,
like indulgence is a weed;
do we need a selfish motive yet?
Can we not beyond the past
move, or will we make it last,
like a widow’s shroud, a blinder set?
Throw your forethought to the sea?
Where’s responsibility?
Is the very thing you want so lax?
What about your true desire?
What about setting the fire
neath the yellow moon that’s wan or wax
to be a beacon for the lost an’
lead them through the fogs and Faustian
oceans of remiss, seas of repose?
What about your love of books,
how they change your grey outlooks?
Don’t you want to give the same to those
who come and read your hoary words?
Do your sentences, like swords,
pierce the gut, or open up the mind?
Do they bring a brighter hope?
Do they show a wider scope?
Or is your theme and focus hard to find?
Such is how our dreams are made.
Take the pen—it’s like a spade,
that fosters in a soil a seed of trust.
Should we not show caution? Care?
Should we not a vision share?
Nurture humans’ noble Sight we must.
What about the gold we seek
in the blushing of a cheek,
in the tearing of a stranger’s eye?
What about the things we want?
Writers shouldn’t feign or taunt—
we should make our readers laugh or cry!
What about those treasures hid
in our sunken heart or head?
Can we not remain steadfast and true?
What is past the mirror’s edge?
What’s beyond the water’s ledge?
Where can thought and view become a hue?
Many days and many nights
come and go like sorrow’s wights,
yet we are given more—a chance to shine.
Fellow-writers now I ask:
let us take a writer’s task;
let’s renew the world, not mope and whine!
Well-said. And I am firmly in your camp on this sentiment. I try to do what a good writer must do: speak in such a way that gives voice to what others might feel but can’t express…or who might never have given it thought at all.
Funny..this kind of worked for me, picturing/hearing Rex Harrison singing it. 
I wholeheartedly agree, although I will admit right away that I sometimes mope and whine with my work. It’s difficult to be inspired while happy at times 
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