Page 77 - The_Lizard

I have also risen from ruins
camouflaged myself in mystery
I’m the one who makes the night branches grow
I am the insect’s terror
but the one who flees from birds.
I was only a poor invertebrate
until I knew the art that made me human.

I was drawn with charcoal on a rock
the author named me
now I live in her words.
Sometimes I visit the crystal city
and live among its shadow citizens
everything depends on what she writes.

I ramble around in a society on the border of madness
where rivers run with coffee.

I sail in digital canvases
she paints me inside portals.

But occasionally I find myself in the middle of nowhere
floating upon empty nets
then I realize the author is sleeping
but without poetry there is no creation.

Then I visit and frighten her in her dreams
to become the splendor in her eyes
the same art that demands to be created.

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