Yes, all the lovely words are recorded just fine.
All the details in order and worlds made up with words.
Oh, the scribe is a fine mage with his pen.
So mighty is he with all his worlds completed and please.
But woe to the day that the fire came.
It ate parts and wholes of his universe.
All his creations neatly gone from the moment.
The scribe stared upon his hands for his magic was undone.
He sat a while with his muse by the oak tree.
True his favorite friends made up from words were gone.
Some of them were burnt by the flames.
But the scribe still had his memories and hands.
He had to wonder:
Should he fix them?
Or start anew?
His beloved friends and worlds waited on his choices.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the Tides
PoetryA series of poems with different meanings and moods. They are all here and have been here a good time from the tides of my mind. I give you some entries of earnest tidings.
