He's trapped in my mind, a mere wisp of imagination but he's rampaging around
I can't get free from my own creation.
His voice carries on the wind, and his face manifests in those of strangers,
Smiling or scowling at me as I pass them by.
I wonder what he he would do
What should he have done in my place?
He's there lurking in the plotlines I see around me
Would he have... wouldn't he...?
He's trapped in my mind, but it's me that's held hostage
Until I discover his murky past, his future tasks and his many noble achievements
A brave warrior, a cunning charioteer, a gladiator of doomed fate
The man with a revolver held to his head
Or the one with a tight grip on the handle
Would he have... wouldn't he...?
Can't he fight his way from the chains I hold on him?
I don't hold tightly
Perhaps he likes the many chasms he could fall in
The many mountains he might one day climb
The pools to swim in
The many foes to fight
All in the shadows within my mind
Perhaps he likes his little haven
At least in there his blood is renewed
And all wounds are healed
Little more than a thought
And yet he's clawed his way onto this page
He's fighting tooth and nail to be remembered
Immortal in his legacy
I just need to let it out
His eyes peer out of windows, hidden behind the blinds
Lips quirk in amusement as I search
Nothing to hold onto
Falling into more chaos and order, all confusion
Where did he come from?
Where will he go?
A hero or the scoundrel
Will he find his way into other minds?
Letting their little monsters out in the open
Given a chance to play and cause havoc on the crisp white pages
Held securely and safely in warm hands
Would he have... wouldn't he have?
Died? Would he really live?
Or is his world to survive?
Is he the hunter or prey in the grand scheme of things?
Is he the all-knowing observer who sadly predicts the eventual conclusion?
A knowing glint to his eyes, and the depths so hollow from sights not meant to be seen?
Has the fight fled from him?
Is he a musician, a fine actor, an unscrupulous man, or a man of pride and dignity?
Honoured and honourable, singing or chanting to his favourite merry tune
A dance in his step as he leaps from room to room
Will he be invincible?
Or is he scarred, cross-hatched by previous attempts on his life?
Does this man have a conscience and morals to live by?
Is he alone, is he a father, is he the friend of many and all who would come to him
Is he secretive, is he obvious, or does he hide all emotion in deep caverns within that no man may find, with bullet or knife or emotional heart to hearts, locked away, hidden away and yet he is there, always there
Trapped and taken up residence in my mind, too exhausted to give him the strength to break out and come into his own.
Until next time
**Written as a response to the phrase 'until next time'. I had so much trouble with organising my thoughts that I wrote about not being able to write the idea down, for it kept changing until I couldn't grasp where I was with it, and my character kept eluding me and taunting me, and then these words came and helped me claim back my dignity!**
