ThePaperMan's Tales

By ThePaperMan and Sammantha Lee

On the 8th May 2020, I joined a collective of artists known as WeCreateNow. Everyday, creatives from across the globe submitted pictures and phrases that challenged us to create anything we could based on our respective abilities.

My choice was poetry, and I have been writing ever since.

These are my stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ThePaperMan
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645988116

Book preview

ThePaperMan’s Tales

By

ThePaperMan

Original concept art by James Houchin

Final design and illustration by Samantha Lee

This work is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced by any process, nor may any other exclusive right be exercised, without the permission of ThePaperMan.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental, unless otherwise stated by ThePaperMan himself.

ThePaperMan’s Tales © 2023 ThePaperMan

All Rights Reserved

Every poem written was made as part of WeCreateNow. Each day, artists from across the globe would submit a picture and a phrase that would create the prompt for that day. For every prompt created, I wrote a poem based upon it.

A big thank you all the members of WCN and a special thanks to the following people that gave me the support I needed to write and who are to be credited for the images that inspired my poetry:

WeCreateNow

Keith Paluso

Kim Maverick

Lauren E Lochner

VictoriaRose

RedneckItalian

MizBizkit

SunRei

Rin

AmyRual

Davina

Sammm

Chris Bean

Kevin Patino

Ben_The_Sage

Thank you also to James Houchin for the original cover art and to Samantha Lee for the final cover design and illustration.

Thank you for the inspiration that you provided me and the support throughout the Covid-19 Pandemic.

Enjoy a year of my life in my own words.

Fly

It is the dream of all men to fly without wings.

Gently sip on the slipstreams that overflow the engines of their own machines.

Whether they are sunrays or moonbeams, how beautiful the world seems from thousands of feet above.

Is this what it feels like to be a dove?

That weightlessness, that freedom from being tied down.

Bound to the earth and commanded by a commercial society to stay on the ground.

Ask yourself this: what is it that I wish?

Is believing in a better life a dream worth holding onto, or the regret of opportunities missed?

It is the dreams we have as children that give us a voice?

Whether or not we choose to follow them to the end, no matter how bitter, is our choice.

Find that comfort first in you before seeking someone else. How do you do that? Simple. Be unapologetically yourself.

Dreamers don’t look down, slide down the hills of reality, hope to try, so that they might glide at least once before they die. For them, it doesn’t matter how far off the ground they are. They are all sky-high.

In awe of these people, we from below look up and cry, They can fly!

In Her Eyes

Do you believe me when I say I see the world in your eyes?

I know behind them is a private world you hide, a stage to which you confide only the best and worst elements you keep deep inside.

As you flick your hair, you raise the curtain on words and worlds that remain uncertain, as I look for the talent and call for her while in the wings she remains hidden. The audience will fill the room as the lights loom overhead and people speak in hushed tones as they await the lover’s beautiful tune.

I will turn to see the eyes that judge, how they pierce, and you pray for an inch but they won’t budge. You see shadows that scowl and hear wolves as they howl, circling their prey, and eager to tear you apart with every word you say.

I know they are there, but I see only a blank canvas, and

row upon row of empty seats that disappear into the abyss.

Here is where I find bliss, as there is no greater magic in the silence between moments like this.

She hides in the green room, her hands shake, but she can’t see that mine do too.

I offer my hand and she turns away and I hope that she will let me stay. But I just stay for a while, be by her side, with her in my presence, and call up the bittersweet recollections of our adolescence.

Eventually, the tears stop, she gets up, and walks shyly though she acts tough. Both of them see the audience not as predators but only as those that want to aid in their cause. This vision then comes true as they throw roses at their feet, and cheer with rapturous applause.

Believe me, for I speak the truth, as this is what my eyes see in you.

I know the way I see things is odd, but it’s true. To see love in another’s eyes is to see the face of God.

Bugs and Butterflies

The forest floor and the canopy house two different worlds,

those that long to soar, and those that can fly.

Between the two there is a lie, which is seen as truth in their eyes,

that one is better than the other and it is a rule by which they must abide.

The creeping conscious creatures that crawl have become callous to their beginnings and their toil.

To the canopy their eyes climb as they bawl, living with wings is better than living in the soil.

Over their heads, through the trees, lounging on leaves is where the butterflies be.

A lofty world above the rest, that allows them to flaunt their beauty and grace above the cruelty and disgrace.

Disgrace in their eyes as they see only imperfection, lesser specimens that have yet to learn their lessons.

As such, they spend the days in their own selfish haze to demonstrate their dominance over the peasants.

But not all is rosy in this thorny world, for the butterflies face a turmoil they keep inside, to uphold that lie by which they abide.

Their routines of slays, flaunts, bathing in sunrays, and endless taunts leave them in a cold sweat. As if they are unable to maintain their looks or fly higher than the rest, what else do they have left?

Meanwhile, the bugs beg for a scrap of the butterflies’ beauty,

If only I was one of them, they dream.

As they cry and wallow in their own misery,

They are unable to see what happens up there behind the leaves.

Neither realises that in transformation and in death, they are equals,

The race to become something good or evil,

Or the final escapade and the absolution of mortality,

these are thoughts that escape them in their realities.

I look on and hope that they could meet not on a leaf or the ground, and although it seems very nuanced,

They will stare for a moment and utter in earnest tones,

I was you once.

Don’t Make Me Miss You (Song)

Don’t shut me out or shut me down,

Just let me speak,

I’ve not got much to say, then you can go on your way,

The ring you can keep.

It wasn’t my intention for things to end, but from the start, somehow your heart, couldn’t help mine mend.

To think how blind, I let this lie, grab me and take hold,

It cut me up, the way it touched, my mind, body and soul.

If home is where the heart is, then I am just a house. And this is my last chance to grasp one small part of myself.

So please, love, stay away from me,

It’s you I’m looking for, but I should remain lost at sea,

For the sky, and you, the waters too may all be blue, but, love, please don’t make me miss you.

And the chance you had, is a chance in hand, and leap you had to take.

As far as you fall, it can mean not much at all, and it all will dissipate.

The last treasure, the last adventure, is the one you take alone. I just wish, the chance I missed, wasn’t before you were gone.

So please, love, stay away from me,

It’s you I’m looking for, but I should remain lost at sea.

For the sky, and you, the waters too may all be blue, but, love, please don’t make me miss you.

That’s all I had to say, please go on your way, make that stranger a lucky man, ask for your hand, and allow him to stay. I will go on, and sing my songs. For him and you, make your dreams come true. Although it broke me, don’t let it break you too.

So please, love, stay away from me,

It’s you I’m looking for, but I should remain lost at sea,

For the sky, and you, the waters too may all be blue, but, love, please don’t make me miss you.

Walk

Left, right, left, right

A forgotten path you walk alone tonight.

This, a testament to moving on or changing your life.

But this bridge of cobblestone, is it one you built so you could atone?

Head on out of sight,

Left, right, left, right

Left, right, left, right

The moss mostly gleams in the pale moonlight.

If these words seem contrite, don’t give up the fight. Trudge a little longer, watch time pass and wonder, Was leaving the best I could do, just for a glimpse of what’s yonder?

You’ve come too far to stand still and bear the mess. You quake as it quivers within your chest. You can barely stomach the sight.

Left, right, left, right

Left, right, left, right

Enough of this backsliding blight.

Take your hope in your hand, raise it high, let it shine, grind, and pound the ground behind you as you will no longer be a slave to walking that line for the rest of time!

A world beyond the horizon lies before your eyes, the sun bathes your skin and the euphoria sets in. A world only a short walk over your fear out there for you resides. This was lost to you when you walked toward that ledge and stood from a dizzy height.

But you wanted more from life.

That’s why we left, right?

A Knight’s Tale

As sure as a sword is double-edged, so too is the weight of responsibility that falls on a knight’s head. In armour so pristine, riding forth on his noble steed, his mission clear and conscience clean, he will ride alone until he is free.

But you see, he doesn’t ride alone. It’s not the horse that he rides that keeps him company. It is two shadows that follow him home, one showing who he is, and the other what he wants to be.

The first is that of a proud noble, whose feats of strength are well known to those who roam amongst the kingdom’s many lands.

However, the other slumps over and will shy away at the sight of trouble. A shame he can’t shake, and a guilty sum of all his failures make up this shell of a man.

His task was simple, defend the good and eradicate all evil. If he was to be a beacon of hope, why does he tremble? He questions, How do you live your own life, when you see your shadow as two people?

The answer was not in the next land, held in his hand or even part of the plan. But as he dismounted his steed and stood on the ground beneath his feet, he found the strength to make a stand.

And in that moment, he found his answer, he glanced up at his high horse, then to the setting sun as he got back on track. He chose to see better in front of him, and since then, the knight has never looked back.

Down the Line

Are you a board in the tracks, or are you bored of the tracks? You look pretty stiff, but don’t be mad, I’m just stating facts. A life of privilege to parade by you, and an existence of poverty on mine. But by the tracks, our eyes lock, hearts stop, and we follow each other down the line.

Be it green grass or shattered glass, the days seem to go on forever as we count the nails together and pass the time. I stutter when I talk as I am bewildered by your presence, and you are curious about what I say because I don’t sugarcoat truth and you find it pleasant. Simply saunter slowly with me, and all the rest will be irrelevant in time, and hopefully these fields and fences won’t be offensive, as we look past them to see each other down the line.

For days we run, hoping the next station we see will be the last one. When the spaces between our fingers are filled in each other’s hands, the merging and diverging tracks will never keep us apart again. Give me your name, you whisper as we wish our worlds were closer and the stars to shine. Nickel, I answer. I’m Dime, she replied. It’s late, and hopefully we can see each other tomorrow? she asks as I desperately think of a line. Nah, I won’t see you next time, I will see you down the line.

The Dragon

It is said that every rose has thorns, this was true for this creature when it was born. What many thought to be myth, a force to be reckoned with, and one that could grant you your greatest wish. For a moment, leave behind what your eyes perceive and look deeper into what they can’t see.

This dragon laid waste to countless villages and pilfered pilgrimages. It was subject to the same tortures once before. But behind those fangs and fire it breathes, you fail to see the way it cried before it had claws.

The eggs were snatched, its relatives were trapped. They were jailed, put up for sale, hunted down and brutally killed for their horns and scales, this a pain we neglected and in the future, by this dragon we would be bested.

But fear not, for one day a woman approached the beast, with no sword or arrows she threw open her arms and begged, Please leave my family be!! We are poor and have nothing to eat, my village can’t continue the demands you want us to meet.

The dragon saw nothing in her pleas. You call for peace, did you grant that to my clan when you tore them apart piece by piece?! An arrow cost me an eye and you claim my requests of you are too difficult to keep!? The dragon wound up and paused, as it gazed over the woman’s face, and she replied as she removed an eyepatch from its place. I had the same thing happen to me.

I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m here to ask honestly, if I could take the time to understand you, would you do the same for me?

The dragon felt a cold chill in the air, one that it had never known. It lowered its claws and tilted its head, and inquired, Tell me more.

From that day on, the conversations got longer, their opinions of each other steepened, as their talks deepened their encounters were more frequent, the hostility eventually evaporated and their friendship was subsequent.

After years, fears disappeared, so did the dragon’s claws and dagger-like teeth, it shed its wings and substituted four claws for two feet.

This transformation of this man’s grief was only possible because of her openness to see. From the pain they both felt prisoner to separately, together they are now free.

So, my children, your mother and I were subject to others’ hatred by the ones we saw on the surface as close, but where I could only see thorns amongst roses, through the thorns, she saw a rose.

Father to Son

In a hospital in a town, a man cradles his newborn son.

While his wife slept, he sat by the window and said,

"What can I tell you about the world, little one?

"Well, it’s a very big world out there.

Bigger than you can imagine, but smaller than you think.

There are a lot of people there. Some are big, some small, some short, some tall.

Many animals that do weird and wonderful things, each with a unique way to face whatever tomorrow brings.

There are lots of places to explore. Some are close, others lie beyond the shore.

"I hope to show all of it to you someday. And if we like it enough, perhaps we will stay.

Each of us has travelled far, each of us has given much to become who we are,

But these things are as distant as the stars, my son, and our hopes for you shine just like every last one.

I would like to say that it is all wonderful, but this isn’t true.

Many are suffering out there, but I hope that suffering doesn’t come for you.

If it does, and you are scared, Mummy will hold you, and Daddy will make a plan, so that you are never alone, and you don’t have to feel sad again.

"I will spend every moment I can to watch you grow up.

I hope that you will value the world and see that it is enough.

Don’t ever think no one cares about you at any time.

As I would rather live in your world, than be without you in mine.

"That wonderful woman who held you when you first cried will always love you, and so will I.

Make every second of every minute count, and I will be proud of you when you are done.

I hope that one day, you feel as happy as I do, when you hold the world in your hands, my son.

The Sailor

Did you know there are places on Earth where people still don’t know how to swim? Even the most adept athletes whose prowess far exceeds that which I can achieve, have little to no respect for the sea? I can understand that, they just don’t spend as much time out here as me.

The days start and end the same,

An unfavourable balance between beauty and pain.

A wonderful thought that I am floating between two worlds, one above and beneath,

Yet when it is offered to another and explained, the magic of it all is lost amongst the vain.

For all they see is an endless, desolate, separate desert,

And a place out in the elements with nowhere to hide that will eat you alive,

But I see the colour right down to the ocean floor and past the deepest depths of the earth.

And from now to the ever-expanding universe through to the cosmos where life and dreams do exist and thrive.

It’s not always smooth sailing, the waters get choppy, the weather is icy, the isolation is primary, and if you get lost, rescue is unlikely.

However, the reward outweighs the risk in my mind,

and my reward is a pursuit of happiness I will chase to the end of time.

As the ocean and the sky blend into one with the rising and setting of the evening sun, I will hold steady at the helm, appreciate the scenery and the serenity, and sail on and on until the world wonders where I’ve gone.

But fear not, it is a wonderful place, because as vast as they are, the sky and the sea are one and the same. There is wonder to behold in both of these places,

Question is: if there is a chance of happiness for you out there, will you take it?

The Gum Tree

Hello, weary traveller, what brings you to me?

What wonders do you seek? What burdens you that forced you to come to the trees? Please, take the world off your feet, and my advice will be your treat.

You see, out amongst the trees we are a sacred simple sanctuary that escapes the grasp of modern life.

From the bugs that dream of being butterflies, to the majestic eagles that set off from here and take flight.

You may not know of what resides in the nights, the dense forests, or this treasured site, but allow me to show you what for many years escaped your sight.

Look at the younglings, the saplings that are full of youth, innocence and dreams.

See how they raise their leaves as if begging to the sun, Please, feed me! Let me grow big and strong, let me live long, let me be whoever I choose to be when the time is right for me!

The young are wonderful in wanting to achieve, but ahead there is so much they are yet to see.

Note the adolescent gums, they stand with their branches outstretched as they follow the trails of the birds that left, and beg of the wind and the sky, Let me fly! Let me wander forever, see lands that other trees will never, let me go out there and ask why. Let me see the world with my own eyes! The wind grants this wish as it creates gales that are swift, and caresses their leaves, and as they sway back and forth, you could swear you can hear them sing.

Finally, look at the elderly willow, look at the way it will provide shelter to the many creatures that she surrounds. She doesn’t beg, nor cry, nor ask why, but welcomes with open arms to imply, Come to me, my children, feel safe from harm. The world is cruel and is yet to know love, here you will be safe and protected from the skies above. The creatures hear her call and flock to her one and all. For her presence and her wisdom far exceed the adolescent’s want of freedom.

And then there’s me, a simple gum. For most, it may not look like fun, but I have a life that most wish they could have called their one. I have lived long past the weeping willows, the proud oaks, the weary baobabs, and listened to the ways in which they all spoke. I have arrived at the conclusion that by their own delusion, they would find it better to be somewhere else. But in my mind, there is nothing better a tree can be, than for it to be itself.

Love, Mum

Good morning, my little boy, she would say,

The first few words to welcome me to a brand new day,

Whether rain or shine, I didn’t mind since she was there and me sound asleep in my bed all snug, as a new day dawned, my mum would give me a hug.

My first day at school, no one there to hold my hand.

With a bag as big as me, and a uniform twice my size, I could have sworn I wore a dress instead of pants.

As I silently cried, no friends by my side, my mum said, Have a good day, and I will see you again, my boy, you are loved.

She wiped my tears, asked someone, Take care of him, he is new here, and then she gave me a hug.

Fast forward twelve years, and though the crying stopped, the same can’t be said for my fears.

A target by any other name in the eyes of bullies, who knew he wouldn’t want to fight back and asked, How could he?

One day, a burly boy stood over me at my desk, my head in line with the centre of his chest. He raised his fist, I flinched, and winced as my knuckles connected with his chin. In a moment of fear I thought I was going to die, but then he shook my hand, and ran outside.

He brought the teacher into the room. Sir! He hit me! he boomed, the teacher knew of how long this had gone on and replied, Good on you, mate! and moved on.

As surprised as I was with the compliment I was awarded, imagine my surprise when I turned around to see the whole class had applauded. That night I went home and told my family and I was a little smug, but my mum said, I’m glad you stuck up for yourself, but remember, violence doesn’t solve everything, and after me being humbled, she gave me a hug.

Years have gone by, and now I am a man,

And though the transition from child to adult wasn’t completely good, in a strange and old neighbourhood, my family and especially my mother always believed in me, saying, Tell yourself, ‘I Can.’

Thanks to her, my memories remind me of those days when I felt warm, cuddly and fuzzy inside, all snug as a bug in a rug,

This is how I feel when my mum gives me a hug.

Where the Snow Falls

It’s cold, quiet, quite unlike the days of old,

A winter wonderland they told her, but for this woman that joke soon grew very old.

Bare trees and fallen leaves surrounded the grounds, and freeze in the same air in which she breathes. Only a few months more, and I can go home to sandy shores, but her way home was blocked by wood that needed to be chopped and several other chores.

It soon became a bore, swinging that axe, agonising over what she will do when she gets back, it’s a hard but rewarding life for a lumberjack, or in her case a lumberjill if you will, but where the silent world drives most insane, she finds it a thrill.

She lives for the days when she can put on her coat, go outside, watch snowflakes float down to a frozen moat, and pass the time. To most, she is a spinster woman whose interest in reality cannot be recovered.

In her heart, what she is looking for isn’t lost, it’s just undiscovered.

Rivers and Roads

Two were given a task that would span a lifetime. Show me what life means, and what it looks like at the end of the line. One chose paint, tar, steel and gravel, but for the other, he decided on a water source and a shovel. From there, the situation would unravel.

Both of them set to work, making their days full of toil in the dry soil as their overarching deadline lurked. The man with tar and gravel melted the surface beneath his feet. Gave no pity to the plants or seeds, only in his bid to outdo the other and succeed. Meanwhile the man with a shovel spent days trying to get the blade to cut into the earth, he could only look on at the progress his rival made and how he had yet to carve out the earth.

One day it rained, and the ground beneath him softened and the rivals’ trials became bothersome. He was at the stage where he was painting the road he just paved, but all his progress and his markings were all washed away.

The other, now knee-deep in water, went crazy with motivation and eagerness to try again. His shovel acted like a bear’s paw, as he clawed his way through making many falls and beds.

The trees, the seeds, the animals that looked on could only see a man on the verge of life and death, as there were places that drove the water up to surround and drown him, held fast by his neck.

After years of digging, planning, painting, and patiently waiting, the men had finished their task. The first had a road as black as coal, with simple lines and steel either side. Did you enjoy the journey? the taskmaster asked to one whose looks did not hide how he felt after the many days he’d spent in the cold. Yes, I did, he lied after chasing a goal that didn’t bear fruit, no matter how hard he tried.

He asked the second about the journey he had, for the next hour all he could do was blab. On and on about the clouds and storms, the lack of warmth, the cool refreshing breeze, the numerous trees. When asked, What would you change? What would be different? What would it be? the man stood proudly regardless of his meagre frame. Life, I wouldn’t change anything.

"My sons, Fate and Luck, you both have demonstrated to me you have learnt much. The paths you made, you made alone. This was the lesson that you both have brought home.

The road is straight and narrow, the river runs wild through its depths and shallows. The choices you made are the ones that make men’s heads and hearts wallow. The road is the life your head planned for, and the river is the life your heart followed.

The Lonely Road

And so it begins, the lonely road. The one you dreaded, but the only one that leads home. With your knowledge in hand and the wind at your back, you slowly take your first steps and hold on to your hat.

For years you believed that everything would be better now that you hold it in your hand. Graduate, it reads, and it lists your countless successes and degrees, but it serves only as a reminder of a life you will never again see.

Here the world is in technicolour, but it’s frightfully quiet. No matter how you compare your life to another, your soul decides to reconcile rather than riot.

A new job, a new kind of strife, the pursuit of happiness, becoming a husband or wife. Finding joy in another’s eyes, finding the strength inside you when you just want to cry, hold your head high! For these are all things to come, but don’t believe for a minute that you are only one, and that you are on your own.

Even if you can’t see them, the lonely road isn’t one you walk alone.

A Song of Grief

Why? Why did you have to leave, when I needed you the most? Why could you have not stayed a little longer? Then you would hear this toast. Now you’re here, and your hands are cold to the touch. But I can’t explain how I will miss you so much.

Was there something I could have done to change your mind? If there was, and I did it, would you have stayed behind? Did you think of the ones that are left, and how they will weep? To you, this is my song of grief.

When? When would have been the right time to tell us? If you were in pain, don’t think to keep quiet to avoid making a fuss. We care, we always have, we always will; although day to day, it may never seem to show. Maybe if we told you sooner, and held you more, maybe then you wouldn’t have to go.

Who? Who told you that it wasn’t okay to cry? To keep what you felt, and all the pain you had held inside? We were all here to help, and if not us, there was help for you to take. But the hints you provided weren’t enough for us to notice our mistakes.

Where? Where will you go now? As we who are left are still trying to figure out how? I know what it means to conceal hopes to avoid hurting someone else. But in your noble act, the only one you are really hurting is yourself.

What? What more do you want me to say? No amount of I’m sorrys and my condolences will ever help me get through the day There is so much left I want to say, but I don’t have the strength or the heart to anymore, all because I know that you won’t be there when I walk through the front door.

All that’s left are photos, and videos from when you were still around. Now we all take turns to visit the place where you now rest in the ground. I want to fight the world to get you back, but I am not sure if you would want that.

I hate that I have to refer to you now in past tense. None of what happened made any sense. In knowing you, a piece of your heart was added to mine And I will deliver it back to you one day, when it becomes my time.

I love you; I will miss you, always and forever. And this is true also for all your friends, and every family member. Wherever you are, please be safe, rest, be happy, and live in relief. While we live our lives, watch over us, guide us, and help us, so we never again have to sing this song of grief.

Come Find Me

When I’m gone, don’t be sad.

In fact, you should be glad.

’Cause I will venture to a place few have seen.

A place where the divide blurs between life and death, reality and dreams.

When your time comes and you are afraid of what you might see,

Let me tell you where I will be.

Look for the biggest hill the world has ever seen,

Covered by the softest grass of the purest green.

The bluest sky that spans past eternity,

And the sound of waves as they crash, singing the song of serenity.

There are roses a-plenty,

And they don’t fear plagues or weeds.

And sparrows sail through the air,

as they drift on a gentle breeze.

Out beyond the place where stars fall,

I will always hear you when you call.

Understand your life is yours to keep,

And the bond we share is stronger than the ground beneath your feet.

I believe that you can be better than the past,

But it is up to you to determine fact from fiction, faith from farce.

To you, I ask one favour,

Don’t grieve, and learn from my history.

And when all is said and done,

When the war is won,

And your spirit is finally free…

Come find me.

The Artist

Master! Master! What will we do today?

the page asked of the Artist.

I don’t know, my creation, where would you like to be?

Hmm, let me see. I want to walk through a forest, can you paint it for me?

The creator obliged and with a few strokes formed a forest painted in different shades of brown and green.

Is that all you want, my creation? How about an ocean, a beach, and a few crustaceans?

Yes please, master! That would make this place even bigger! Oh, and can you make it so the water from the ocean follows through the forest and makes a river? Have some plants to meet it and drink from the surface? How wonderful that would be to give this river a purpose!

The Artist smiled and after a while, the river flowed through many bends. With the top of a hill being the start, and the ocean its end.

This is all fine and well, but can you put the sun in the sky? Is it day or night? It’s hard to tell. The creation made a fair point, and using a brilliant canary yellow, he manufactured a light so bright that everything on the canvas with its rays of sunshine it would anoint.

Master! Master! I have a few more ideas! Could you please make these dreams of mine come true? the page asked the Artist.

Anything for you, my dear. I will lend you my ear.

The page couldn’t stop as the Artist continued.

In a few minutes, there was a house, a bench, a mouse, a couple of cents. A tower, a mountain, a clock that rang every hour standing next to a fountain.

Days, weeks, months and years, no matter what the page requested, the Artist would lend his ear. Until one day, it all stopped.

Master! Master! Are you there? The page waited anxiously, but though it waited, it never heard the penny drop.

"Master! Master! Please hear me call!

The world is turning grim, the air is turning thin,

It’s hard to breathe and harder to see.

I want you back, please come back to me!

I won’t ask for anything at all, just don’t leave me!"

The page then began to bawl.

The paint began to drip, as the wonderful atmosphere created was slowly starting to rip. But this was not all doom and gloom, as the world started to stop, through the fog the page could hear the sounds of a horse in a gentle trot.

As it approached, the page felt a lump in its throat.

What was it to do? It was all alone, and with no one to defend it too!

Fear not, my creation, it is me! The Artist dismounted from his stallion and into the eyes of his creation he looked deep.

Why did you leave? the page questioned through its tears.

"Why do you weep? I left ’cause all I wanted was to be here.

My time in my world has since ended, and the life I created here is the one, I wanted to live out eternity in a world so splendid."

But we can’t see it, the fog has set in.

Fear not, my creation, you just need to learn to smile again.

But how can I smile when all that was beautiful is gone?

Go back to the beginning, appreciate every moment, every last one.

Slowly the page started to remember, and the Artist’s creations slowly appeared out of the nether.

The trees, the plains, the mountains, the rain. All looked different, but somehow it was very much the same.

Master! I just remembered; you didn’t sign your name!

Why would I do that when I can only be remembered for my pain?

Master, a life that was loved is something that will trump death in an instant.

And with a quill in his hand, he walked to the edge of this new land and signed,

"My Masterpiece,

Your Loving Vincent."

Dusk to Dawn

Since the beginning, they have been polar opposites. A beautiful balance between heaven and earth exists. Cast your eyes to the skies, and look and listen closely to find a place where two lovers reside.

Dawn is her name. Begins each day the same. She waves to plants as she lights up the sky, kisses babies good morning as her light fills their eyes, provides a respite for those looking to flee the night, and through the day the moon is pale to her sight.

His name is Dusk, and darkness he brings us not as a want, but a must. His emotions are colder and older than what is held in Dawn’s trust. For him, they couldn’t be more different than twilight and dust.

He will hide the bitter, the withered and lesser. He will bring rest to those who have long sought it out. However, Dusk thought, This can’t be my forever, and from that night on, he looked for something better.

One night, he saw a light, the first in his eyes there had ever been. He called out to it, but at the same time he was afraid of being seen. At sunrise she would hear the calls, but when she tried to chase them, they simply echoed until she couldn’t hear them anymore.

One day, she looked closely at the moon, she noticed that as she moved, it would too. Maybe… She thought this through as she cast herself toward it as the night blanketed the world in preparation to commence a night anew.

Sure enough, it caught the attention of Dusk, who later glided up and asked, Who are you?

An awkward start but one that was a necessary part in the creation of these wonderful things. I bring joy and happiness, what do you bring? Dawn questioned.

I bring a swan song for the world to sing.

Why? That’s not very nice.

It’s the only thing I know how to do every night.

Why don’t you let the dreams of the world flow through you, give me your hand and I will show you that you are more than you think you are. With that, Dusk’s heart cracked, and birthed the first-ever star.

He was unsure what to feel. It hurts! he complained initially.

Don’t worry, it will heal. The amount of dreams he let in birthed stars numbering in their millions. Each one made her smile more and made his heart less sore.

Sadly their time together was up as Dawn was about to break. I want to see you again, he pleaded. I don’t know how I will get back here. Finding the way was hard to do at day’s end.

Don’t worry, I will light the way. The remaining stardust was used to give the moon its glow as Dawn’s light faded from sight. And since then, Dawn follows Dusk and the first star, the Northern Star, to meet up every night.

So if you feel alone, unsure, lost and afraid of where you are, open your heart to the idea that there are millions of dreams and your emotion is felt in every part. Want proof? Look for the man in the moon and gaze up at the stars.

Oh, You Lucky Duck!

Ugly, pathetic, fat, a waste of space. All different names like brands borne by my own hands. I wonder what is it that they see as different when they take a look at me? I’m shorter than most, unable to swim across the moat, barely able to walk and squawk instead of quack when I answer back.

Oh well, guess that is what I’m destined to be… ugly. At least I know my family loves me, I wonder what their eyes see?

A shy silly cygnet, yet to see the world’s wonders outside of its own nest. A hope that it can one day be anything that it wishes to be… but if that is the case, why is it so hard to be me? So tough in fact the other ducklings mock me behind my back, don’t even call me by my name, but instead use the name they created for me, Ugly.

Days go by, the insults stay the same until it becomes more of a typical nuisance than a belittling pain. After so long, something to me became very plain. I certainly changed, but they all stayed the same. A ridiculous reputable repetitious realisation had unfolded before my eyes. My feathers began to fade like the bad memories made, my wings grew large, white, and light. So much so in fact I was now blessed with the gift of flight!

The ducks all grown up jaded and alone, work hard to maintain their vain and lame looks, but the future took the past and said time to atone.

As I returned to the nest one spring, those same ducks approached me, complimenting me on my grace and my wings. Please tell us your secrets so that we too can attract the attention that you gain and make it look effortless if mentioned!

"I was just being myself, that was beautiful in the eyes of someone, I didn’t want to appeal to everybody else. I chose to be different, and after years rejected the idea of conformity. I’m sorry, but a swan is something you can’t ever be.

All you see is what you wished everyone else was to provide you with, a false sense of pride, absolution, and security.

Well then, who are you?! the ducks asked with urgency.

Can’t you see, it’s me… Ugly.

Delight in the Dull

Look out! he yelled to the man crossing the street. As the truck barely missed him, this stranger brought the wanderer to his feet. Are you insane?! You could have died! The stranger scolded. "I know, but you too would die if you only saw the things