On this colorless page, the music plays
Endless enchantments of misery and suspended outbursts, both glorified and fearful
And yet these lines so painstakingly wrought in forms of voiceless emotion
Have brought me to tears,
Silently fading into the woodwork which surrounds my ghostly appearance
I am thy master,
I am thy sculptor
My shades and strokes breathe life upon this canvas
Thine imagination has brought me that which fills my hours
As a maddened slave to the quill, I work these melodies of pain and pleasure
Sweat and desire obliviate me to the living
As art is all that becomes real
The sparkle in my eyes are that which give light
For what I can see is portrayed upon the parchment
Brilliance to the ecstatic paintings revealed in my soul
Dare ye to listen!
Dare ye to explore my world!
It is I who give the challenge and call
As a fevered captain with one duty to his ranks
If it be not complete, the reaper will settle the score
You are the backdrop on which I free my will
Will you dream as I?
Would you dare to feel the tempest pound upon your mind?
The clash of thundering giants roars in fortresses built by fools
But it is the fool who will shape his world, and not let it simply roll by.
I will seize the faith of a dreaming lord
And create as a god
The world is but my captive and I, the keeper of the keys
It is to my pleasure alone whether I free or condemn
But alas, I am the one chained by the notes, the quill, and the brush.
Far be it from me to forsake destiny for failure
To cast aside the passionate kiss of a dream
I must be that which I am; what else could I be?
I am the composer, the writer, the painter; I am fate,
Quietly becoming my world, until the candle fades into memory…
mistressofpoetry 