The 27th Verse

It’s a funny thing, creating worlds.
They exist and they don’t,
They spin and they swirl,
Gleam and glisten,
Frothing with excitement,
Mystery, danger, romance,
What have you;
But that’s what you get
When you throw a bunch of
Whacky characters
On a planet
With nothing better to do
Than fall in love,
Or pray to their creator,
Or write poems,
Or sing and dance,
Or kill each other
In the name of X,
Where is equal to
The sum of all things
You never expected
A whacky character to dream up.
At the end of the day
(if your world has days that end),
The best you can hope for
Is creating a world
Where all the things
Your characters dream up
Are half as beautiful
As the world around them.
Because if your characters
Are anything like you,
They’ll be dreaming up
Exciting new worlds of their own.
So then, it stands to reason,
That when you become a Worldbuilder 
What you’re really building
Is a mirror inside a mirror.
When you stand and look
At the thing you’ve created,
It just goes on and on;
And everywhere you look,
You can’t help but see yourself.
Maybe that’s what they meant
When they wrote the 27th verse
Of the book about the builder
Of the world we’re living in now.
Even if I don’t believe a word of that book,
I can dig it––the 27th verse, that is––
Because I see some truth in it
Now that I’ve made worlds of my own.

Talk to me.

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