Creating

It started out so innocently–

A scribble of the pen–

Only a scratch or two on paper.

I never had a plan for what I found was to come.

I mused and muddled ‘bout a sunrise

And jotted down a line or two,

And suddenly a sunrise shone into the room.

The mountain next, that I described,

Leapt into life nearby, and I heard the rumble

Through the walls, as its peak rose toward the sky.

A maiden fair and beautiful, did dance across my floor.

Her gold hair flowing in the breeze that does not blow any more.

A battle raged upon the lawn, a hero won his prize.

Incorporeal ideals of love and joy, twirled silently ‘for my eyes.

This sudden outflow I did not expect,

Yet it now surrounded me.

And at the shrill cry of my telephone,

It all did cease to be.

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