Sometimes I wonder, 

if what I write becomes reality?

In some distant universe my blunder

means catastrophe.

 

But if that is the case,

then what happens when I erase?

Am I a god of time in that distant realm, 

doing what I please when I take the helm? 

 

Am I feared? Am I loved?

Or am I unknown?

A distant memory, fearfully shoved, 

from sight for the things I have sown?

 

But does that mean, 

that I am also a creator?

Are those worlds to be seen, 

there because of me as a benefactor?

 

Or did they already exist?

Did I overwrite their purpose?

Are they as lost as we are in the mist?

Perhaps I should never have found purchase. 

Perhaps I am an end.