I pray,
For my writing style
To have (no) flaws
Or weakness as I grow up
To show my upbringing.
But my achilles heel may be
The Ink that'll definitely run out.
I imagine myself
Crossing the busy streets,
Running to the shop
To buy Ink with haste.
So I can continue with my writting,
So the burning words
My tongue doesn't disappear.
And I would forget them
Like a grandfather
Telling tales of his youth.
My Hector shall be my age
Catching up to me
And the arrow shot from
The bow of Apollo
Shall be blindness
Coming with age.
I shall teach my children
And grandchildren
The way of the words
And pray they'll find
Some relief from the cruel
Society. Lost in the burning
Smell of Ink
And the smell of old books
In a library, shall bring
Them peace.
I pray to never be Achilles
But if I was
I would leave a legacy
Of writers and poets
Behind
And pray, they'll met their Hector
Softly, without hate
Or reluctance.
I shall never be Achilles
But if I was
I'll leave a loving
Legacy behind
To continue.
©️ #Ethen.
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