You ask why I write.
Why I stray in open spaces,
settling in corners, seeking
paper, leaves, anything
to document every inhale
exhaled.

Not for money; that is given.
I do because I must.

Because children grow
and leaves will fall. Because
pages turn and life
goes on - clichés
to comfort us as we fade.

Fade we will,
like words on the page.

Because here
inside this moment,
trees aflame
with day's last breath,
lives taken and given
in unfair exchange,
the world is screaming
for attention.

And while I cannot hold
death, love or the passage
of time, I believe someone
ought to take notice, or
at least stop
to write about it.

Lori Boulard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poets-why-i-write/