A wandering soul has last found out, tired from all his writing bout
No longer does he stand to commit, the endless drive required to submit
The magical power of conjuring up words, it's almost like there is a curse
Even if the paper book was shut, the writer's mind continues asking "what"
No longer is the story bound by fate, as now all he can ask is "wait"
DREAMORIES may have ran its course, as robonxt's writing arc cannot be forced
May those who waited to read say, "maybe, in the future, just one day"