I lay back one night and looked at the stars,

Wondering, whispering, "Who am I?"

My soul answered, "You're an artist."

"I'm a creatrix," I muttered, "Of faces and worlds

That I can control with a swipe of a brush."

My soul smiled, suggested, "And of course you're an actress."

"A performer," I murmured, "I can lace words

With gold and poison and honey and flame. I'm a liar."

"A dreamer," he soothed, "With infinite power."

"I can destroy the world and rebuild it in a day,

I think in roses and sapphires and bright eagle feathers."

"And," my soul finished, "You're a writer at heart."

""These letters laid out are so like piano keys," Quoth I,

"Arrange them and you can do powerful things."

I can create a moment of beauty; I can craft a world of pain.

I'm a magician," I mused, "I'm a poetess."