On Creation

She sits and the wind whispers

Through the strands of her hair,

Filling her mind with the noises

Of voices that aren't there.

.

She stands and the rain collects

In the wells of her eyes,

Filling her gaze with the colours

Of a million lies.

.

She walks and the sun slips

Beneath her tired skin,

Filling her veins with the energy

Of passions within.

.

She runs and the storms crackle

In her hyperactive brain,

Filling her thoughts with memories

Of the dead and insane.

.

She stops, and screams,

Wishing it could all end there:

Why have all these thoughts –

So wonderful and terrible –

If there's no-one to care?

.

She sinks to the ground

With worlds in her head,

Lives at her fingertips

And ideas like lead.

.

She seeks a release

In the flow of her pen,

In the scratchings on paper,

In her creation den.

.

All she wants is a reader,

To absorb the worlds she creates;

All she wants is a lover,

To share them with.