Creation




Computer keys are
mere plastic things

The stark white letters
stare up at the ceiling

They are part of
me

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
master
to hidden worlds

Each is only a
keystroke away
from beginning
life

Copyright © 2018 Penny Wilson

 

13 thoughts on “Creation

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