The Builders

A short piece about me and my dad, written on his birthday.

When I struggle to find words,

you would offer your pen.

Swords in hand,

We’d wage war on the page.

You would listen,

I would draw,

together we would create worlds.

Now I wage my own wars,

Fueled by passion, we both shared.

Though words still escape me,

that universe still grows.

The page, it’s window.

The pen, it’s sword.

I, it’s creator.

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