It seems I really have run out of rhoetry. The book is more than double the size of the last one sent. I keep trying but it seems I've run out of steam ... and heart, maybe.
I did make on last attempt...
Mists
Beyond the vague concealing mists
Hidden by the tale of twists
Behind the veil of waterfall
Remains the clear and steady gaze
Unbent, at last, and standing tall
Fresh from charge of demon's raze
Shedding armour, once and for all
Undisguised, attractions fell
Finally, no tale to tell
Still, the urge to craft it bright
Replace the armour with the light
More enduring than the steel
Shattered stain glass, by the feel
Wrest the demons from your fate
Trample them, in light ablate
It's funny, that, the unwrit tale
The devastating one, I fail
The clatter of the armour as it falls
Sigh, within my hardened bones, it calls
Transcribing all the legends of the past
Still, one spell remains that has been cast
No desire to let the spell abate
I nurture it, the end result of fate
So, maybe, it's just creaky machinery due to disuse but, still, I have no desire to post (or be) online any longer. I am uncertain as to whether filling a book that will never be published, or sent again, would be engaging.
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