Hello, Figment

I am the God of old incarnate.
You will have to live with that.
I've placed you in a little room.
It has a window. You can see,
But you're forever locked inside,
And, thus, the things which pass
The window actually may not exist.
They may be pictures I've supplied
Or products of imagination. Your
Life may be fantasy. You haven't
Any way to tell, and, worse, I am
The God of old. If you were not
In my mind, you never could exist.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 62 times
Written on 2015-02-09 at 23:49

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