Pen

Ink streams from my heart,
Silken and wonder, and all that collides
The universe is mine; I control all
The deaths, the lives, the speech, the happiness, the light, the dark,
Everything.

They call for help, voices ringing
I’ve made them too strong, too real,
But it’s my world – nothing I write becomes them unless I choose,
But it gets so heart-achingly close

But is it anymore?
The ink now written over, speech and lines from worlds that don’t exist
It comes to life, swishing, swirling, twirling, living,
And it becomes their decision, not mine
All I hear are the voices

My stars, my choice
My world, my choice
My people, my choice

But is it anymore?
I am a shell, holding a pen,
I’m not the writer anymore.