• My pen is a shining lance spilling black velvet creation, glossy flourishes.
    Ink pools like ichor, spidering across the blank canvas of reality.
    Slowly . . Falteringly . . . the world transforms.

    The Droning of fluorescent lights becomes the soft swirl of welcoming waters
    Their listless sickly light is reborn, the proud golden sun of a dreamscape
    Papers rustle, the whisper of the ocean’s foaming hem as it brushes the shore
    The sea rushes into being, Salty air, vast open sky, the promise of exotic ports

    The sea glints cerulean, indigo and bottle glass green, russet in storm.
    Silver bubbles rise and burst spilling the stolen dreams of the fish.
    And Leviathans glide, their eyes glowing orbs, dark forms twist, writhe and coil
    Around rocky pinnacles guarding their glittering hoards of stolen pirate gold.

    Sunken ships list with drunken dignity, their broken hulls house riots of color
    As coral twists itself from decay like appendages, a skeletal skyline
    Seaweed sways, sea maids flit among the currents like rare birds of gem and alabaster.
    They bask on barnacle-studded rocks, scales glinting iridescent in the gilded light

    Sun sinks, crashing into the horizon, lighting the sea, tingeing it with brilliant autumn.
    Restless Night prowls in, and unfolds her stygian wings; the world is black as ink.
    The dreamscape recedes, fades, blurs and departs. Fey fantasy slips away