Creation

Happy Tuesday Everyone.
On this chilly day I bring you a poem. A bit of a break from the normal course of work featured here, but it is a poem about writing. More specifically, a poem about world building. I love world building, it is my favorite aspect of writing. Creating a new world, wholly or partially original, is just such a joy. Figuring out the interactions between the characters, personalities, cultures all of it is exciting to me. So exciting in fact that I wrote a poem about it.

I stand in a field of nothing.

All around me is empty.

All around me is the world,

Only waiting to be formed.

It stretches out before my hand

Like a field before a farmer,

Its emptiness waiting to be filled.

It sits, expectantly, waiting for me.

Suddenly I feel it.

Like a song bursting in my chest

It calls to me, the world does.

Unable to resist its sweet call,

Caught up in it all, I begin to work.

From my fingers burst creation.

All that was, is and will be is known.

The world around me takes shape and tone;

Here a tree grows strong and true,

Its leaves basking in a sky ever blue.

There a city prospers and grows,

Its people living lives without woes.

On and on the creation goes,

Past the joys and whims of man

And into the dark and deep depths

Where monsters lie and men may die

Here dark thoughts and deeds rule the land

Their numbers as numerous as the sand.

Casting the world into deepest night.

Each one only adding to the worlds blight.

What will become of this wholly new world?

Will it be truth and justice that wins the day,

Or shall some dark force steal it all away?

Will great deeds be done on its natal shores,

Or shall this world be wracked with wars?

The world stretches out before my hand

Filled with only my deep and true desires

What was, is, and shall be only seen by me.

Each new form, every new life

A simple extension of my will.