The Storyteller Within Me

The Story Teller Within Me

It’s been said that some things are better left unsaid,

Than to utter the words, stories swirling in one’s head.

To allow them to wonder about unable to speak,

From room to room in my mind not making a peep.

These people inside my head seeking recognition,

Are nothing more than brain cells working in combination.

Night after night their stories both mystical and bold,

Have clamored about from my youth ‘til years old.

Some spirits in my head sit recanting visions galore,

While several sit missing the love they adore.

From all figments in my imagination, they come,

Knowing full well what it takes for them to become.

Separate yet one they all cry to be heard,

Making my dreamworld wacky and often absurd.

It’s up to me whether I let them all out,

In a storyline or paragraph letting them shout.

Some have said my choices were all wrong,

Arguing I should’ve picked them among the throng.

But regardless which character I finally use,

There will always be those who stand and accuse.

Fanciful adaptations of visions and dreams,

Coming at night often appearing on moonbeams.

Spirits I’ve called them as they come and they go,

Walking the hallways, in my room, with stories to bestow.

Some scare me causing me to quiver,

While others bring with them love to deliver.

Smiling faces glowing with eternity’s promise,

Making me wonder where they secured the awmous.

But at the close of the night and it’s visitations,

I issue one last call, a simple proclamation.

If you have a story within your spirit,

Bring it to me and allow me to consider it.

I write their declaration, their stories I tell,

Some become remembrances, memorials as well.

I tell of their journeys both the bad and good,

Causing some to question whether I should.