If you rode on myth and mystery
wrapped in steepled tapestry
and all your worlds and history
were some grand and lauded fantasy
Would time stand still upon a page
until you had time to survey
each sentence and every character;
all ironies, themes and factors?

Could the tragedies be ironed out
and simply be part of your readers' doubt
which once they were turned back about
end in triumphant shouts?

If you were born a prodigy and set apart
to grow with a strong and noble heart
trained in everything from fencing to art;
perfect in diplomacy from end to start
Could you find the way to solve it all
and answer with wisdom to every call?
Would fear itself cower in your shadow
and the world stand in awe of what you know?

We weave with intent on our dreaming loom
the threads of a story we want to consume
with us at the center of a world without doom
so we can sleep well in our little rooms