She came to me in a dream
A vision of angels in flight
Her skin was pale as cream
As she approached me that night
I looked down at my hands
Ashamed of myself in her presence
I wanted to call out her name
But was unable to utter a sentence
I then saw the pen in my hand
An idea flickered in me like a flame
A black mark where my pen did land
I decided to give her a name
The pen continued its course
Telling not just her name but her tale
The ink on her skin sounded coarse
This task I was determined not to fail
When I finished with her, she was God
My soul on paper
My first poem