My World


I feel the smooth wood under my fingers, from the flat end to the sharp end. I drag it across the surface. Switching pieces of wood constantly, I control the world. I pause for a moment, admire my work.


The sky not blue but full of beauty, the clouds not white or grey. I can change it all: the sky, the air, the sea. The world is mine for the taking.


One

Two

Three

Four

Five

one after the other


He is born.

His blue hair is not straight,

it spikes in all directions,

but in some elegant way,

it looks unique.

Not messy.

But strange.


His clothes are plain,

though the air about him

seems royal.


What expression he wears,

you cannot tell,

for you can see only his back.

But you can plainly see

he does not wish to be disturbed.


In front of him, a golden and pink sunset,

over a calm, clear blue sea.

Perhaps he watches the water,

searching for something hidden.

Perhaps only under his gaze

can he find

something beyond

the exterior of the tranquil

scene.


I am satisfied.

I sign in a corner,

and put down my pencil.