The “I” that is not me

This I is not me.
I write this I for you.
But you see with your eye, my I as me.

After you’ve read my poem,
you ask me how I am.
I’m fine of course again.

What I write is not
the same as what is
written about me.

Why then if you know me,
me is all you see
when I am writing fictionally?

The thoughts are mine its true.
The words of course are mine too.
But the person in the story isn’t me or you.

That’s the description of fiction:
Truth immersed in story.
A falsely true depiction.

Why to write

For why to write?
Ideas may ignite.

The written word
Is power unstirred.

Ideas can spread, understood by the head,
But then they are fed to the heart.

But an idea unsaid is an idea unread.
Therefore unspread an idea is dead from the start.

What of an idea bad?
They can turn the world mad.

Untempered power,
Will soon turn sour.

This is the tale, caution’s your scale,
Let truth prevail in speech.

With travail we cannot fail,
To follow this trail, for truth to avail we must teach.