You told me to look,
And I did.
Under the looking glass
And in the tree.
But all that I found,
Was the reflection of a life
That fell from the branch
He’d sewn onto his heart.
Because he saw a need
Bigger than his own.
That stitched on
More and more,
Until his words became sentences,
And his sentences a story.
And slowly his story formed between his fingertips,
In the gaps where his future
Began.
Because his fingers weren’t the only ones
With a story to tell.
The typewriter that fills our mind,
Looks up at the stars
As we do.
But they only find the words,
Once we know them.
And when we do,
We create the universe.
Our universe.
And whether we see it or not…
It truly is beautiful.
Amy Elizabeth Poetry 