Stone cold was the wordsmith's face when
A hologram of His was perceived by him.
A casket, where He's supposed to be
Covered in dirt and solitude.
Cassandra warned him that he'll encounter
A Poet that'll resemble the dirt
And the reflection of his muse
That once slept beside him.
Beautiful whispers led a wordsmith
To a pond where they first met.
It was already set in stone
He already knew, yet he played oblivious.
The poet whispered and longed for him.
He'd felt that the Wordsmith completed his
Once soulless soul that never found
The appeal of breathing
YOU ARE READING
The Ballads Of The Wordsmith For His Poet
PuisiExaltation given by the muses of this Poet's sublime. As this poet escape the asylum he's been trapped, he'd find glory into writing epics and ballads. As the wind chimes, a knock of desperation escapes his everlasting pain.
