Half written stories litter the floor,
An author half here,
Half out the door,
Swirling Chaos stands in the way,
Creating new worlds day by day.
A beauty to his words,
It just sends him mad,
As his pen furiously scratches the pad,
“Why won’t you leave?”,
he cries in the night,
their gentle voices give him a fright,
they’re angry with him,
they’re often diminished,
bitterness filled veins as they’re left unfinished.
His universes spoil on the floor,
An author half here and half out the door,
He smiles back at you,
Awkward to be sure,
But you can’t help it and come back for more.