Fiction Poem by R. L. Allen

It is fundamental to my existence:
Like breathing, or blinking or reflex.
I don’t think. I just write.
Pen hits page and flows across it
Effortlessly, as if the words had been
There all along but had been locked away in
A little box, fighting since the cooling of the earth
To get out and to be free of restriction and rule.
Words tickle the page like ribbons
Dancing in the wake of the setting sun
As it sinks into the sky,
And I find myself dancing too for the
Words and for all they represent.

One night I dream that my road is flooding.
Great tides of midnight blue rush upon the
Grassy shore by the main road.
People are walking like zombies form the ocean,
Their eyes alive with passion, but they are confused.
They are lost.
I stand there helplessly on the grass verge,
Water licking my quivering toes.
“Come this way, ” I say and they follow.

I wake.
Instantly, even before I open my eyes,
I know that I have to write this all down.
Every detail about the dream:
What these people looked like,
How they sound and how they smell.
I have to write it all down.
And I have to do it, now.
I calm myself and close my eyes.
I don’t dream but I listen.
One of these people that emerged from the dream
Is telling me her story.
I listen for hours until I have learned everything about her.
Now I am ready.

My pen storms across the page in an influx
Of fiery passion and excitement.
Nothing can compare to the exhilaration
Of writing the first few words of a brand new story.
Diving deep into the unknown,
Unaware of where this journey will take you.
Who knows what will happen to the girl you dreamed of?
Will it end happily?
Does it even have to end happily?
Who says that the prince comes to save the damsel in distress?
Who says that all is resolved?
Who says the story even has to end at all?
Can it not be controversial?

And still, as the last page of that story has been turned,
A new one begins.
And I find that I miss them when I’m not with them.
I dream about them.
I become enraged when one character fights with another.
In my head I tell them off for swearing.
I rejoice in their happiness
And when they are sad, I mourn for them.
A fire burns deep inside of me whenever I even think about them.

This fiction is so real.
It is a part of me.
This is who I am.
I don’t want to ever let it go.




March 3rd,2010.

To find another poem of mine about writing, follow this link:
http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-paper-and-pen/