The Writer

The pencil moves,

the letters fly,

The meanings unraveling, taking to the sky.

The night dies as my plot grows.

Frost decorating light to my darkening rose.

A reader is lead blind down my twisted path.

Only I control the Fates' wrath.

My pen is a wand.

Words, my spell.

Enchanting your emotions,

I visit where they dwell.

Laughter,

confusion,

I control the illusion.

Fear,

fright,

Some crave these with delight.

By the droves they come,

Wanting woven magic.

Lips sealed,

I supply,

Even if the ending is tragic.