The Keyboard
Quiet at dusk, my mind's voice is clear
as thoughts trickle down the rafters of my mind;
they graze each level of my membrane
spark the part in which intrigues interest
and entertains my every thought with time
demanding my fingers to express them immediately
they respond to my brain's every command
my mind is a prisoner unto my keyboard
& my keyboard imprisons my images
my cerebellum decides whether it's hot or cold
or whether it's water or land
this very tool puts me in complete control
I am it's master, it meets my every request
but my thoughts possess control over it's every need
the bones of my phalanges tighten and bend
arthritis has bitten again
but my fingers aren't quitters, no they are not
so it's back to pain they go,
sculpting the masterpiece the keyboard was made for
it's soul purpose was to verbalize my genius
it was made to showcase my expertise
my master, possesses no skill without me
I am in charge of every stroke it makes
every crisp punch of the key
every swift stretch of a pinky
and every rare occurrence of backspace
we are one, identical beings intertwined
with beauty and flawless imperfections
only we, and I, can produce such amazing metaphors
similes, imagery, and vocabulary
they are all one with us
the keyboard, similes, metaphors, vocabulary, and imagery
that is I
as for creativity, yes. I'm talking about myself again
in fact, my fiction is filled with wondrous truths
but my non fiction holds extremities of manipulation
the keyboard has a mind of my own
my mind has a keyboard of it's own
& neither of them possess a space button
nothing but vowels and consonants
and an occasional mouse
that points me in the appropriate direction
my alias is the keyboard
embedded in my mind is a secret keyboard
they meet on very special occasions
& I welcome you heartily to the sequel
to experience the emotions of a keyboard
the next time my mind enslaves my fingers