The Fist Draft

Words weave and wander

Through memory and imagination

Crawling out from the hidden spaces

Into perceived reality

And laid bare with pen and paper

The thoughts linger and flow

Along familiar paths until

Branching unexpected

Into glorious dreams

And mystical nightmares

The words dance

To a music I cannot hear

And swim in oceans

I cannot see

And, when I glance back

I am amazed

I am astounded

At what they have created.

The words cannot be molded

Cannot be made to follow

To bend to my will

Any attempts to cut and change them

Leaves scars and blemished

And betrays their truth.

So…

This is the first draft

And

Also

This is the one,

The only,

This is the final draft.