I had a dream…

I stood upon the world,
a giant, and raised my hand
to cast words into people’s minds.

The other hand, it held a pen.

I ripped the skin from my side,
dipped the pen in my blood,
and started to write
on the parchment of myself.

And it hurt.

I kept the wound open
until I was done with the skin,
then ripped off another piece.

It still hurt.

My pen ran red, mixed with my dread;
would I disappear
when my life was read?

It seemed a moot point.
Dead is dead.

But words
are alive.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/9/04