The Creator

He began with silence.

Chiseled mountains in sky,
constructing clouds into coliseums,
turning trees into the types of towers
only birds could visit.

And with earth eyes
and tree branch fingers
he sparked ideas.

Molded perfection
with slouched shoulders
and youthful smiles.

You can't begin
until you understand
that this was his world.

Precise.
Perfect.

Nothing but a locked cathedral,
with dictionaries at every pew.

He charted out every slurred word,
every false smile, and restless stare.

He drew lines through the noise:
small squares of separation.

He would be their god-
The creator of their words.
The master of their minds.

But with each thought they grew.
Their existence a revelation of memory and sound.

They set their world ablaze.
Ideas burning into their core.

He struggled,
desperate to put out their flames.
Yet he could only cover his ears
As he was consumed by the chatter