Computer keys are
mere plastic things

The stark white letters
stare up at the ceiling

They are part of

My heart pounds
as my fingers find
life in the
cold, plastic squares

The very existence of
countless unknowns
hang on each keystroke

They hide my dreams
and my nightmares

To release them
I am slave
to the keyboard

With them, I am
to hidden worlds

Each is only a
keystroke away
from beginning

Copyright © 2018 Penny Wilson


13 thoughts on “Creation

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