This poem woke me and insisted I get up and give birth to it.
"I am bored," the boy said to his mother.
"Then go gaze out into the world."
"But for what shall I search?" he inquired.
"The more you open your eyes, the more you will know the beauty and wonders that surround you.”
"But I fear I may have viewed all there is," the boy argued.
"Bring me five things of interest from the forest," she demanded
"Then take those things, and make of them a tale.
Toil until eyes burn and fingers ache."
And he did.
In his stories, he created worlds.
He sailed vast oceans and fell in love with beautiful princes from far off lands.
He defended their honor and took over kingdoms of those he defeated.
He laid open his heart, then let it bleed onto the page.
He filled the world with his voice and created legends.
And then the boy grew old and died, and was no more.
A patch of dust on a doorstep.
Washed from existence in time
But his stories endured
And through his words, he lives forever.
By Phil Gladden
From: United States
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