What I say opens the door
To a sky you can only dream of.
But I can touch it,
I can grasp it between hungry fingers
That thirst for a purple sunrise
(Or red if I wish)
And I can envelop myself
In white-grey clouds that dare rain.

What I hear is superior
To anything you could ever interpret.
Your scratch of metal on pavement
Is my choir of gravel.
Your grating cry from a crow
Is my sweet symphony solo.
Your gasp of fear
Is my sigh of solace.

What I see is an array
Unlike any view you've ever taken in.
I can make a silhouette out of bare light,
I can manage to imagine
When there is nothing before me.
I can envision an end
When there is no beginning;
I can start a fire
Without a single spark.

You can't touch me.
I am a god.