The Weaver~

A worn pencil stub for sword,

A faded notebook for shield,

Like the knights in her tales,

These weapons she wields.

Writing is a constant battle

'twixt self and inspiration,

Too often characters run away

And defy their given station.

She fights them to submission,

Pins down wayward plots,

Is strict containing them,

Training rampant thoughts.

It takes much practice

To acquire needed skill

In the art of writing thought

Down orderly and still.

But once basics are mastered

The first beast caged,

She can escape through every

Smudged, penned page.

She can see through every mindset

From heroine to foe,

Go places that do not exist,

Except in heart and soul.

Taming words, she is set free.

To wander as she may:

A dancer, or an actress.

Flip through her dossier.

Possibilities are endless,

Do well to believe in her...

For she will be an artist:

Words her silk, she their weaver.

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2012