To the Writer
I came to you softly like a cradle song. Your eyes and ears took me in, and little hands held on. I burrowed my way into your heart and then took root, and so once more my seed bore something new.
I am the gateway to limitless journeys with beginnings and ends. I’m the unforgettable climax and lashing crux. I’ve appeared as a full moon and an endless sun, but I’m all of it and everything in between. I’m everyone.
I am broken, sacred vows, and the darkest of thoughts. I am secrets that were promised to the grave. I’ve been innocence, experience, redemption, and deliverance. I’m heartbreak and ecstasy in the flesh. I’ve been naked, but I’ve worn every single costume from every act you could dream up. I take you into chambers where you’re terrified to look, but can’t resist. I bust you out into the blazing light where eyes go blind or adjust.
Even through the minds of the insane, I’ve been adored. I’ve both freed and imprisoned the masses without brute force. I’ve left many at the crossroads of uncertainty, but I can solidify conviction just the same. I can let them rest their heads on pillowed clouds. I’ve brought villains to life, and turned cowards into heroes. I’ve reigned terror and showered love in all forms. I have many names.
I’ve made the humourless laugh, the indifferent feel compassion, the stoic choke back tears, and the skeptic a believer. I’ve soured the idealist and left a bad taste in the mouth. I’ve left them curious, enlightened, shocked, and furious. It may end in utter silence or guttural noises from the throat, but I’ve expanded and narrowed the living in every single tongue.
I’m a horse drawn carriage and a racing car; white, bunched-up sheets from lovers, and blood-splattered walls left to be discovered; a knight in shining armour and four horsemen on a mission. I am the sanctuary and the fun house. I am everything. I’m Vision.
I have been as much mother and muse as I’ve been child. I’m the inspiration, not mere paint. I’m every colour of the spectrum. I’m gray. I’m shade. I’m black on white.
I’ve been both reason and madness. I’m your Voice. I’m smudged ink on your left hand, the clicking sound of the keyboard, coffee stains, and the empty whiskey bottle. I’m dancing dust in sun rays and liquid thoughts in rain.
I come as Word in all its definitions and sequences, existing to both give birth and be the babe. I am all stories, true or false. I am infinite. I breathe life into the dead white until it fades.