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A Lament for Wars True Woe

In centuries yet known

From eons untold

War welcomes the fire

Step forward the bold

 

A warm hearth to lie by

He pleads do not cry

Tender sorrowful words

A wife’s final goodbye

 

Her majestic caress

Such loving embrace

Though never again

Will he bask in her grace

 

The battle horn blows

For the young and the old

Thundering steps beyond counting

They will never truly know

 

Of furious war misunderstood

If only a King but could

March forward ‘til dawn

A reign forged in blood

 

The clashing of blades

The bellowing cries

Of countless lives lost

As it rains from the sky

 

A field of grim death

The battle is won

Kings wrath to wage war

Yet his judgement will come

 

She stands in the earth

Her fallen love to find

For that was foretold

Cold steel ended his life

 

She stares upward to find

A Kings gaze meets her eyes

Hollow is his heart

No care in his mind

 

His final goodbye

From that tender last night

Meant more than a Kings crown

To the passing of time

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A Shackle for a Soulless Song

To call yourself a writer can be a troubling thing to one whose mind never relents. It can be a powerful sign of ones own acceptance, a belief that despite all of the doubts I may actually be able to write something of worth. If not worthy of anyone else’s time or attention, then at least worthy of my own ability to create something dear to me.

However, it can also be a leash around the neck that acts as a restraint to the flow of creativity that I feel best comes when it occurs naturally. Those ‘holy shit, that’s actually a good idea’ moments that can come at the most inconvenient of times. Thank bugger for notes!

If I am to refer to myself as a writer, I also need to remind  myself  every now and then that writing for the sake of writing, or progress for the sake of it, may only yield forced efforts at best or a gradual resentment to the craft at worst. I need to occasionally allow myself a breather from the voices in my head that demand that I give everything up to sit down and write, write, write, write, WRITE, WRITE!!

Sometimes it is okay to take some time and recharge the batteries. Rather than try to figure out who I am and what to do about every spare moment I get, sometimes it is alright to just stop and be still.

Sometimes.

Forged From Reverie.

 

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The Dare of Crocker Hop’s Drop

Would you be prepared to do that which you would expect of a fool? For a fleeting glimpse of silver and gold, would you dare risk what the tales have already told? Would you risk your life in the pursuit of wealth if someone were to ask you to do so in exchange for completing a simple game of dare and drink? Continue reading “The Dare of Crocker Hop’s Drop”

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