I would prefer to write a love song, but it helps to be in love
So I write from what I know, these little verses of life
Sometimes content, sometimes sad, sometimes dwelling in my imagination
The lives I’ve lived or dreamed or feared or missed
A life lived in the words on a page are but a glimpse
A window into one introspective soul opening itself
Perhaps someone might see their own reflection
Staring back at themselves from within the frame
Others might just find some meaningless string of sounds
Yet, they are the notes that emerge from my instrument
My memory or fantasy, my psychic world in narrative
And you my reader, the imagined audience
Are there as my orchestra begins to play its parts
Neil White, 2014
Sign of the Rose 