Words struck against the steel of a restless author,
Twinkling in the hushes of a waiting heart,
Eager to create, shaping thought into order,
Casting a nascent spark’s glow from the start.

“Be a perfect person,” naturally adapting,
Literature, my first and truest love, she lets me be,
No nonsense mars the worlds I am crafting,
Boundless trajectories, where minds run free.

Striking the same match from age to age,
Scribes striving lest they become obscure,
Through times of distraught, sepia-toned with rage,
Musings met with ink, a language suture.

Legacy-building, wars, and patient design,
A perpetual state, where questions accrue,
Mirroring the whole truth, inherently divine,
First thought that emerges, without ado.

Reignite the beginning reigns of writing’s core,
Try until the words float around and bore you,
Clever is the writer who can tell stories in a few,
For regrets come from not having done more.