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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The poem relates to writer's is the key to infinite worlds.

Submitted: September 12, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 12, 2013



Troy Blecha


I stand in front of the gateway leading to the minds of the penmasters.

Beyond here are their words. Words

that capture all the stories of the world

and their heroes. Dreams come true

just inside this gateway. The keys swinging

at my hip prepare me for what lies just inside


On the other side, sensory is redefined.  Eyes are replaced by the eagle's, allowing me to witness everything in the universe.  Nature becomes more vibrant, and even  darkness is granted some color.

Touch is reversed as I find winter

in the heat, and summer in the cold.

Gentleness becomes rough, and

coarseness can be soft. Beyond the gate,

a comforting touch only causes uneasiness.


Ears take elfin form and increase the intensity. The crickets and their

violins overwhelm the birds' songs. Each sound becomes distinct, and I can

even hear a falling lice in an empty forest.


My tongue savors every flavor known to man and much more. Taste may come

and go, but without it I cannot find my way back. Back through the labyrinth to my place in front of the gateway.


Along the way, I develop a supersensitive canine nose. Every scent I encounter burns nature's eternal incense, linking them to words of immortality that will bring me closer

still to the minds of the masters.

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