Mother and child, room of wails Pales in comparison to what the pen has prepared A laird to hardships unaware, she protects her hope in her ***** to no avail For what hails heroes from the dust least they have yet to be erred
Their tormentors shudder from oppressed cut brilliance hidden in pages, addicts to riches bought with blood Yea, a spud to peace, their wages of greed persist into a protagonistβs drudgery The journey they face disregards limits, obstacles held together by the will of the author must they succumb Shunned by amity, the mastermind leaves their conclusion smudgily in dirt
We Readers helplessly watch our heroes with words of consolation clumped in our throat Devoted to a good story, we gleefully sell time to the composer so our champions can climb the ropes Common tropes of old, we discuss in groups or alone characters we breathe to life with admiration in which we bloat Rote in its finest, we continue this slow dancing of pages to the tempo of screams of peril or the feast of shortlived jokes For the author knows to keep everyone afloat by throwing a good tale on a boat
I wrote this for a challenge prompt on a different website. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading