In the place you live, there is one room. One room you like to go.
For me, its my own. Where I’m never alone and I know where to find my bow.
The walls are all filled and give mystical chills that make my heart thunder.
Just take one look. You’ll know it belongs to a dreamer full of wonder.
There are maps of a kingdom, pastels of cities, and characters all my own.
All from a story–a majestic story–that I’ve come to call home.
Home is the magic. Believe in the magic, the magic of imagination.
It’s better than knowledge–more important than knowledge–I don’t care for your hesitation.
Then there’s a storm on the sea, a sword (or three), and fantasy filling the shelves.
What shelves? Not enough. The games are all stuck and the books are squished themselves.
Skulls line the top and from higher up the dragons roar with might.
Each one of them waiting, anticipating, a story that reaches new heights.
Now, let’s not forget the desk that sits by the window open wide.
Such a cluster. Such a mess, but it’s all to attest to the clutter that fills the mind.
Notes for stories, and notes for research, and notes to remember the day.
But energy is lax and motivation is sapped. I wish I could have my way.
A way to a novel, bound proudly in leather with a scar to mark it’s path.
Such adventure! Such magic! One day I will have it and these broken tears won’t last.
For now, I lean back, and enjoy a good stare at my favorite room of the house.
Beautiful chaos a cluster, but it’s all that I can muster to chase out all my doubts.
Deep breath and head high. I’ll reach for the sky. My dreams gotta go to work.
Another story on the wall. Another fantasy standing tall and all I can do is smirk.