Carving destiny

This is my first attempt in poetry. I'm not giving any description really just because I wish to keep it open ended and see what meaning can people draw out of it. I'd love any reviews and stuff. :)

Wielding the mighty pen,

He sat down to write destinies.

The moon, now old enough, became his canvas.

 Immersed in his thoughts, he scribbled out the first fate.

 

Curvy, beautiful strokes carved out the highs

and the little, rough lines sculpted out the lows.

 Slowly and steadily, it all proceeded towards the end.

Reluctant to ink out death, the pen stopped pouring out.

Vigorously, he shook his pen, and the ink rained on earth.

 

One after the other, he embroidered fortunes.

The ones he was happy with,

became one of ours.

Others, he tore away and crumbled up into stars.

Reviews

[Marie]

I believe this is meant to be a metaphor for a Creator, but not necessarily God...

[Vernika]

Yeah exactly! That's the reason I did not impose one particular description of my poem so people can squeeze out every possible explanation they can. :)