Let the words flow,
That's what I've always heard.
But the words never come,
Exactly like you wanted.
Moving through,
My created world,
I see the fissure,
The endless stars.
I wonder not where,
But when I am.
The bookshelf rots,
The pages crumble,
The libraries are shut.
But still the words,
They do not come.
I feel them in every thing,
Except myself.
My humility keeps me in this world,
Tied to it,
Bound by bonds of faith.
I step through the arch,
The feelings fade,
I see my house,
Destroyed.
This is a place I should desert,
It crumbles under my hand,
I can kick it in to oblivion,
And smash it before I see it.
My vision clears,
My feelings change,
My books are safe,
My house is complete.
I sit to write,
I pick up a pen,
The ink flows,
In thin black lines.
I am the journeyman.
