Reality, and me.

There are no winds
that can wrap me up and cast me home
like a rock skittering across
a lake of dishonest reflections

There is no reality
that can unravel my dreams
and shatter the hope which I need not
to cling to
for I am the great,
and the only,
the artist whose hands do not tire
when the time is near
I am the creator of this world
of my world

The sun does not illuminate my path
it does not guide me and rid the Universe
of shadows melting across my vision
it doesn't save me of my closest illusion's
betrayal, perhaps she has her own life?

My hands have torn chain without difficulty
they've captured fire without being burnt
My mind has silenced thunderstorms,
and summoned a many of them, too
it has drowned water
and commanded the stars to shine

Reality doesn't create itself,
I create reality.