The author reached into her book
And over her characters she took
She attached strings to the humans
Led them to their happiness or ruin
Controlled who they became
And made not one the same

She painted trees with her eyes
And created mountains and skies
She let the scenes drip from her fingers
Onto the pages as her influence lingers
She slowly created worlds and wars
Fabricated houses and hidden doors

She plunged into her story without a thought
And the rest of reality she forgot
She painted with her mind body and soul
A masterpiece of her own control

From her tale and made up lands
She slowly removed her hands
and the author came back to the world
To recreate her story already once told