Ghost Writer

The pen drives itself upon the paper I, watching as the tale unfolds Wonder from whence this wisdom comes Of things not seen or heard Places never visited, faces never known. Am I but a vessel of some far greater power A pawn in a game of cosmic chess? Or are these visions merely undiscovered Parts of myself, aspects Unconnected to the daily toil of waking sleepfulness? The mystery will not be unriddled Like a siren's song, she taunts and tempts And bids me follow where'er she leads And I obey Willing captive of her inimitable beauty. ~ Laurence Overmire