A candid look at myself when I write, set in poetic style.
In the recess of daylight the shadows trick,
Fireflies dance against a vine laden wall.
The ghosts and goblins, around the fire do fly.
And I created them all.
Through whimsy and fancy I give them each life
With one mighty stroke of the pen.
I shape them to do, what my will deems them to,
Their existence on my hand depends.
With one swift movement I dictate lives
Whether they shall know pleasure or pain.
I toy with the words, that build them a world,
Yet give them no voice to complain.
I am the mistress of the place in my mind
where fiction and fantasy grows.
Its hidden quite nicely, till I beckon it come,
Like a rampaging river it flows.
Yet I stop to wonder as I begin to create,
When the birthing of new lives retrace.
What if another, much more than I am,
Rules my world from some distant place.
Maybe my pen with the might of a sword
Was a gift written in just for me.
Who might be playing out, this life of mine?
A delightful, yet sad, comedy.