by Stephen Thompson
Let me open up your mind
make the scratches come alive
put the music to mere Letters
to spawn a dance of Words.
Primitive Words of names and actions
clothe themselves in Sentences
short, or long; sophisticated,
or raw elemental in action and colour.
and everywhere the spectral web
of Grammar guides their tiny feet.
The creative mind lays down more ink
the Sentences now think
and joining hands they summon their friends
for the song of Paragraph.
Another inky island grows, upon the virgin Page
It's Words and Sentences unfurl, another Paragraph.
And so the inky compost feeds, a field of whispering Prose
and on until the page is full, with silent shouts and images.
Then the mystic fungi, sends it's spores to the empty page below;
And still the inky compost runs to fill the waiting page
and page upon page the silence fills with the beasts of Thought
and Emotion and plans unfold and histories told give birth
to a host of characters.
The chapter ends with it's white so clean
that the words seem to have died in a desert.
But turn the page and the stories rage
and images flash like lightening.
The characters born in the black ink storm
chase their fates through the pages of chapters.
the mind paints their world and their actions and wishes
and seals the fate of their time, be it good or bad
fed by words that grow meaning from meaningless scratches.