The time period I was writing all these things was from late 1990 up to 1993, this is one of the earlier ones: Reflection of Faith

A creator of days sits behind an old desk,
sipping his tea, intent and collected.
Driven by power he plans and designs
events of a focused and purposeful whim.

Then after a time his tools change their aspect,
the elements of age slowly gain control.
And as the things he once guided now destroy
he’ll sigh and return to the certainty of his tea.

This one is really about writing itself.  As I began to explore creative writing in general I tended to find that the longer I wrote a story, the more I fucked it up.  Which is why for such a long time I preferred poetry or vignettes. My big problem was that I would start out with a good idea perhaps, and then over write the concept to a point where I would either need 100,000 more words to make it work, or just scrap it.

Pre-emptive snark: no it’s not me drinking tea there. The idea was that of trying to embody the problem almost from the point of what one might imagine a god or a painter or an engineer (or anyone trying to build or create something) reaching a point where the tools cause more damage than actually create.  For some reason that image took root in my mind as an old guy sitting behind a desk drinking tea.