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The Author’s Dream

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A simple twenty six letters
write your existence.
You read your lives off of
a page in a book.

I have the power to
twist words into minds
and meaning, forcing
images to swirl and torment.

And the people I create,
you who have fallen prey
to my hypnosis,
will squirm as I do.

Wriggle and writhe
beneath my hand,
the hand that writes
you onto the page.

My hand is cramping,
my hand is tired and
my hand is failing to find
a creative dream for you to follow blindly.

If we strive to follow our dreams
are we not forced to look everywhere
unconsciously for an escape?

Life is a trap,
I cannot stand to wait
until death do me part,
take me away
for my sanity’s sake.

Death is a hand worth holding.
And I-
I will make you hold his hand.

My Frankenstein,
you will be my escape.
You will be my dream
and I will live through you.

My creature do not fear me,
I am powerful with words-
weak in all but mind.

I am a wanderer
writing on a whim and
looking for a place
to call inspiration.

I need a guiding hand
So I-
I will hold yours.

And the day will dawn
when I falter, and I will be
no more
your author.

I will be the poet,
who started a story
that never ended;
continuing to swirl and spin
and weave in the web
of my mysterious mind.

And in these words
I may not yet understand what I mean.

Am I destined to
dream of a day
when my words will be remembered
by the burning of pages?

An author’s dream
is to live through the words
that we define, create, rip, torment, murder,
those simple twenty six letters
that can mean anything when rearranged into words
simple, beautiful, words.




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