I am a composer.
My pen dashes paper,
Ink flying,
Music floating,
Notes running,
Orchestra playing.

I am an artist.
My pencil lightly brushes paper,
Colors blending,
My vision evident,
Crowds awing.

I am a performer.
My voice lets creatures loose,
Into the minds of young ones,
As I read what I wrote,
Not too long before.

I am an author.
My pencil scratches new worlds into paper.
You see as I tell.
I get to you from miles away.
I wrench your heart to bits and piece it back together again.

I let you imagine.

You are an architect.
My story gives you a base,
You put up your own two-by-fours,
Rip them down and alter the base.
Rebuild.
Your own new world.

A child is the new creator.
Sloppy writing builds upon your tale.
A bestseller's eventually called forth,
With roots traced back to me.

All books are rooms
In a never ending,
Always expanding mansion.
Start at the top, go down,
Find the base
Of all literature.
Go back up,
And re-explore
The ever-changing world of books.