Funeral bells chime; skip, new song.
Dramatic return, our heroes march on!
(Too rushed? Hmm . . .)
Morning comes; dawn of the final day
Two sides wage war.
Countdown to destiny.
Swords clash, warriors yell, and then--!
…It’s 4AM. Should go sleep.
And I’ll open it in the morning,
Find it filled with typos,
And slave away fixing tired, 4AM mistakes
Writer’s suffering, based in love
Our cross to bear, like
A knight’s quest! ...or something.
And the prize is this book.
The magic, the battles, the glory,
Through sleepless nights and agonizing edits,
These adventures are ours alone to take.
The darkness sets a stage; the first act
Begins with a song – Track 7.
I boldly draw my feathered blade, dipped in black blood
(Or rather, the modern graphite equivalent)
And march my heroes into battle.
Embers of war bring light
Courtesy of my bedside lamp.
Its glittery lava dances and enchants
Like a magic spring, home of faerie queens.
New song. Drink. Act Two.
The warlord stands overhead, intensely glaring
Down upon our fearless heroes.
Their victory is assured. Justice always--
I bite my lip, thinking. Does it?
No. One should die.
Tears fall softly. Hope is lost.
(What time is it?
Only three? Wonderful.)