Time unfolds like unconscious writing, A universe of words Gathered by the fragile consistence of paper. A godlike creative process, Soliloquy and solemn.
I slept while thunderous waterfalls Flooded narrow sidewalks. The nervebreaking silence seemed a distant relic, When dragonflies used to enjoy The kindness of fading lullabies.
I slept while in the hills Cities clashed for an obsolete reason, Betrayal and treason.
I slept while thunderous waterfalls Came washing over those who lingered, Hopelessly regarding the marvels of self-demise What other reason could you otherwise Imagine?
I do not wish to be history s typist. I wish to be it s writer, not a mere spectator, And to command a rebellion of stars. A discreet, yet powerful seduction. A thespian savoir-faire for whom may learn to dare, How to conceal such discipline.