Remembering the Calling

I remember it, clear as day
The first time I brought pen to
Page and the ink flowed into stories
Untold and magic happened before my
Eyes, I was surprised how easily it came
About, the addiction of words, of truths and
Lies chasing each other through the lines, over
And under, until they began to take form,
They became my flesh and blood, were born
One by one, all under the midwife’s thumb
Of a 20c machine, printing backgrounds and scenes
In my head, no longer irrelevant, this was my new

Play pen, where age and experience no longer mattered
I was a creator, a mad hatter who wove delight into the
Very idea of it all, and it was not a tall order to bring
Them to life, to create their faces in my mind and
Let them roam free in the dead of night, walking
Circles in my dreams, pleading to set them free, it
Became a new kind of sanity to spill their secrets
All over the copies and margins became way-stations
Of things yet to come, prophesied moments in time,
And I knew that all at once everything had changed,
Morphed me and brought me to an enlightened way
Of living, that this was all I was capable of giving and
In that knowledge I felt such delight, knowing my
Purpose was simply to write

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