The tip of my pen scatters stories,
a tale or two gracing the page,
taking feeling from my fingertips,
words dance on a blank stage,
my joy is found in crafting worlds,
then unveiling my own in a bright light,
with only ink I can choose a whisper,
or dystopian crashes of meteorite,
my glee resides in a paragraph,
for I find melodies in lines of prose,
tugging a heart closer to the realm,
of scribbled minds and long agoes,
my delight lives in a dozen verses,
where love is a mystery I hold dear,
a vibrant portrait on an old canvas,
sonnets are symphonies to my ear,
my elation exists in creating a character,
I am a fierce puppeteer yet sometimes fair,
letting people wander around my brain,
I hope they like steering the wheel in there,
my happiness remains in storytelling,
in lands of beauty and rainbow hue,
when my works do reach a reader,
may these structured melodies bring happiness too.