Allow me to stretch my writer arm
Note the spectral energies embodied by my form
When I write, words, I don’t envision
Instead, a code, from a time untold
Fulfilling my role
As intergalactic mediator
For the layman.
Their shouts, I turn to whispers
As I descend, towards the center
Of raging winds, for I am the eye
Of the storm, the calm, that dilates,
Pushes back, our world’s veritable stampede
Come hell or high water
I make a way where others believe
There is none.
– Original-Dante ©2017