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Chapter Text

I’m a lover and a fighter,
I’m a soldier— I’m a writer.

I can hold up in a fight,
But my true passion is to write.

I’ll use a weapon made of words,
Poets tremble at my paper swords.

A pencil of iron will trace my path,
A writers heart shall face much wrath.

My armour will glimmer in the sun,
My poems will be my only fun.

I’ll journey onward to face the beast,
And pray my soul shall not decease.

These tales will travel far and wide,
Told from the pits of my own pride.

Chapter Text

What is this darkness?
I only know bright.
Where I shine,
Dance,
And sparkle with light.

What is this darkness?
Coming so near,
It’s like I can feel it,
Hear it,
See it let off fear.

What is this darkness?
It floods my lungs,
Drowns me,
Starves me,
What happened to fun?

What is this darkness?
I’m cold,
All alone.
I don’t remember the warmth of the light.
Was it fun and bold?

What is this darkness?
It’s falling apart.
It cracks,
Crumbles,
And light warms my heart.

So what is this darkness?
It’s the loss of hope.
The calling for help,
For light and for joy,
It tugs like a rope.

I know this darkness,
I felt it within me,
When my light felt no more,
Gone,
Returned the bright glee.

This is the darkness,
That we must shed.
It will only do harm,
And sorrow.
Some end up dead.

I know no darkness,
Not anymore.
There is light,
Warmth,
Healing;
And most of all hope

Chapter Text

When the sky shifts from night to day,
It swarms with breathtakingly warm colors.

But at what cost does this beauty appear,
If it is only to help transition from black to blue?

It comes, then goes; yet people still manage to find beauty in its small role.

Why must sunrise have such a quaint, yet stunning role in the day if only to support our famous blues?

I only wish for the calm happiness to last but of course, the universe declares: “All good things must come to an end.”