Reflections on adapting Whistle Down the Wind to the stage

What becomes of me when I close my eyes
When the mystery of my mind meets the essence of the still
The cheers and celebrations and royal endorsements
Just a gentle faded film of sticky residue on my various lids

I enter an abyss of infinitudes from which I seek glimmers
Signs of something in the stark and never ending zero
And when I catch sight I wonder if it was there all along
Do I discover or do I conjure?

As the gods observe me reach towards the information
A sequencing of mood and feeling never before observed
I snatch their secrets from the fingertips of the demiurge
And spit in its eye with the defiance of a legged porpoise

Hands burnt, scolded and ribboned, I return
From beyond the great future archives of potential
To the greater present library of the present
Ready to share with the world once more a golden thread

Once again to give life to the dead, form to the amorphous
To give meaning to the common man
And I ask again - am I a god? Or surely something more?
For God does not compel me to create him,

Yet I feel he would not exist without my interest.
And without my interest would the people still utter his name
I fear not. I know not.
For I have replaced his throne with one of my own

And whilst the people cheer to their God
Beknownst or not to them they are cheering my imposition
A God I stole only from myself
And gifted to the people