PCW

From aged ashes,
You arise,
The scent of clotted dust,
Defeated by brightly lit chemicals,
Yellowing plastic unearthed,
Untapped potential,
Tapped out with a satisfying,

Click, clack,
It takes me back,

To the first time I sat here,
Blank page gently flickering,
A world without walls,
Three-hundred and seven thousand, two-hundred possibilities,
The first time I was asked,

So, what do you want to say?

I was too young, then,
Green beacon,
Naive and immortal,

But now,
The stone of time grinds me steadily to dust,
Congealing on my skin as it did on his,

So I consult you again,
And this time,

This time,

I feel ready to answer the call.