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Time unfolds like unconscious writing, A universe of words Gathered by the fragile consistence of paper. A godlike creative process, Soliloquy and solemn. I slept while thunderous waterfalls Flooded narrow sidewalks. The nervebreaking silence seemed a distant relic, When dragonflies used to enjoy The kindness of fading lullabies. I slept while in the hills Cities clashed for an obsolete reason, Betrayal and treason. I slept while thunderous waterfalls Came washing over those who lingered, Hopelessly regarding the marvels of self-demise… What other reason could you otherwise…Imagine? I do not wish to be history's typist. I wish to be it's writer, not a mere spectator, And to command a rebellion of stars. A discreet, yet powerful seduction. A thespian savoir-faire for whom may learn to dare, How to conceal such discipline.