I am the God of this poem
from the tip of my pen, world's come.
This paper shall be my canvas
from here, my words form into mass.
With my felt-tipped pen, I create
Stories of people, their fates.
From my imagination seeps
Life for my characters to keep.
I am the king of this world
of the words with which I have mold.
Somehow, something is missing here
Something of value cost dear.
