The Soul Hidden In The Writing

You ask me for a story

And I find myself at a loss.

How can I clearly portray to you what I envision?

These pictures in my mind are not so easy to share.

I cannot draw them for you in any way besides with words,

Though my descriptions seem inadequate.

And I know that you shall imagine them differently that I describe.

But I know of no other way.

You may mock me

Or you may read it with wonder

But I still feel as if something is lost between what I picture

And what is written.

For how can I accurately convey

That which cannot be described?

How can I show you the true depth of emotion

Or the grandeur of the mountains painted in the light of the setting sun?

For I never imagine something on a small scale.

Why should I?

In my mind I am my own master

And there are no limits to what I can create.

Shall I bare my soul for you?

Shall I reveal all that I imagine

And everything that I keep hidden in the deepest crevices of my mind?

For that is what you ask of me.

I know not how to write without imbuing my soul into what I create.

So read on, gaze at what I have created

See with not only your eyes, but also your mind,

The tale that is laid before you

And remember that it is permeated with all that I am.

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