Once

Once there was a story

waiting to be told.

a plethora of letters

without structure

nor air to breathe,

lacking voice

to birth life.

Once upon a dream

fantasy’s reality

encompassed eternal beauty,

not abstaining from intangibles,

rather dwelling in

mind’s abstractions

passionately desirable.

Once I live,

with one voice

and one mind,

given choice to

disperse or unify,

only to discover

indispensable life

will soon fade,

feeding forgetfulness.

Once I write,

engraving streaks

on smooth rough surfaces

of earth’s grains,

accepting dutifully

 its feathered memory

whose shadow

will forever remain

a discolored

mark upon the page.

Once I wrote my life,

two became one,

death and life,

life and death,

preserving each other’s

existence,

two worlds

woven into

the fabricated

tale to be spun.

Once written as one,

it flowed forever,

ink staining the sterile slate sealing

my unwritten destiny.