A bravest tale at four,
My legend was all doodles upon the door
Of an old hinge-howling, whir-humming refrigerator.
My sword, a stub of crayon;
My shield, more paper in mom’s cherry desk drawer;
My heart, the lone creator
Of full-color-dreams fading e’en as they were drawn—
“Believe as before!” my youth yells from yore:
Worlds at whim and not at war.
Poetry: Keep The Key