Worlds made out of ink

Destinies shaped by the pen

Fate on the anvil

Forged by my hand

A world of words

A better place

One of my own making

Where I exercise total control

A god if you will

I cannot stop the cough that rumbles through my chest

Or the hunger in my heart

But I can quell the pain of a character

And make him reach his goals
though mine stray further away

‘Beat by dre’ close to my eardrums

Its fiery tempos beating inspiration into me

When I lay down the pen to fuel the form that keeps me tied to this world I meet the mundane

I hear tunes from an evil fiddler

Fiery music strung on life’s harp

Burning the heart of my being

The ember of my soul thrums

Life kept hammering at me

Every beat beating splinters off me

Trying to forge me into what I did not know

I still do not

I lie frightened

My dreams keep me awake.

Their manifestations, and the things I created

The fire of the furnace ate at the soul of me

In darkness my soul brightened

In lightening my soul darkened

In shadow the core of me harkened

Every time I held the pen there was clarity

The world fell away

My troubles deserted me

They would be back in full force I know

With a vengeance for the momentary neglect

But for now I just write


2 thoughts on “Wordsmith

  1. The power of a writer to create worlds, to bring people to an imagination, a pretend world if you would and make them care about people who might not even exist…
    The 8th world wonder for sure

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