Nest of ivory

I come as I am,
in giant heart-strings that flicker,
bewildering.

I forge locomotives from letters,
the adulated pygmies of my world.
They show a constant solace,
calming the storm that follows,
attracting unwanted peace.

And I deliver them to you,
in purest form.

They carve impressions of a
magic world, residents of unclear
origin. They glow and dance,
whisper and hiss, obey and shout
at the same time.

They preach my teachings in
your mind, sowing baskets of silk
and nurturing life itself.

They do not beg, nor ask for shelter.
They only serve their master,
a lonely wordsmith, irresolute
and distant.

They are my children and my
nephews, my life and my
death to follow, my friends
and my enemies.

They are my stories, just
waiting to be read.