The Typist Poem by Joshua Carlsen

A world, reading into your mind
You want answers, solstice you may find
You got the image, the entire world all laid out
And for a moment your escape is made
A broom to sweep away your doubts
You might pause and wonder
"Who created this? What are they like? "
But the typist isn't a god
The typist is even more flawed
Then the creator, who is you
Who turned the words into the pictures
Who turned the lyrics to a song

The typist is a lonely man
There are few achievements he can
He doesn't know many friends
His work only a bitter means to his ends
He's trapped in him cold room
With a cold hardwood floor
Although he keeps craving for more
His chances fled right out the door

But you are important
You've got the imagination
To turn the musings of my alienation
Into a beautiful, living creation
The typist will one day come and pass
But your universe will always last
You are the better person inevery way
And I know you'll merge the worlds someday