Pen on paper,
Black on white,
Alone and bored on that day
I reached inward
And created a few companions,
They laughed and played
On sun-lit beaches
As I smiled and looked on
I gave my creations
A few quirks and family ties,
So they would never be bored.
A door open that could never be closed,
Even as I stopped writing that day;
I’ll never forget those figures made of ink
Created on the gloomy day
O so long ago.
And who knows;
Maybe they sit and play on those beaches still yet,
Those beaches of forever ago.