A Poem

 How do They Rise
So many stories
So many lives
How do they rise?

Are they authored by confusion?
Are they a pack of lies?
Maybe so
Maybe not
Maybe they are truths retold
Of places we never behold.
Except in dreams of course,
Which make a force
Of stories old
Waiting to be told.

So pick up your pen
Writer of the glen.
Don't be a has been.

So many stories,
So many lives,
How do they rise?