A Storyteller's Diary (Original Poem):

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5 am

I wake up to the chattering tune of this morning’s flock of symphonies

Recited daily and always a timely gift for me

Unwrapped as my conscious rises to ears opening

As the doorbell rings in threes

The sounds are overwhelmingly startling

Surely they have the wrong house

Who could this be?

My thoughts rush to the Postman, Mr. Lee

A small statured man with a tattooed dragon

He’d swiftly deliver to my bolted door separating my castle, my kingdom, from his wagon

Lost in thought I move my body

Toward the door, one foot, one leg

Slowly, dragging

My thoughts run to my boss Steven Constadine

A man who is immaculately pristine

A father of three young boisterous teens

He’s always suited up in Versace

But how could this be?

Steve’s been gone since January

Or could it be Sandra his younger wife?

Who runs to his aid in all of his strife

With slicked back hair and lips so red

She’ll stand by his side until he is dead

I begin to open the door so cautiously

With ice cold hands I turn the handle with great precision

In millimetres, so accurately

The door flies open and who do I see

An empty space staring back at me

I look below to the floor covered in overgrown greenery

A wooden box which is marked “To whoever lives at this residency”

Slowly, cautiously I pry the box open and inside I find a mirror staring back at me

Staring at my reflection I see, I am Steven, Sandra, and Mr. Lee

I’m trapped inside my head you see

My kingdom, my castle, is hidden beyond reach

Sandra and Mr. Lee were but a fantasy

I am Steven Constadine, and so is he

A storyteller’s life can be merely one giant, dreaming, mystery.

(Artwork: Unknown Artist)