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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

Fingers steady grasp feathered quill

Though the cold leaves them numb

With deft accuracy the author

retrieves more ink from the pot

All around him chaos reigns, torrents of confusion abound

To his left, the ground is rent with scars

Ripped apart by the trampling of many frightened feet

And still he writes

To his right, a cliff drops off sharply,

plunging to the depths of the sea

There are cries of the lost and wandering

That echo through the fog that drifts

And still he writes, slow and steady

Peace had long since left his lands

The parchment on which he wrote was his last

A light approaches in the distance

Un-noticed by our author until just as it arrives

The blinking beacon in the night was held up and away

Leaving the bearer's face in cloaking darkness

"It is Time, Old One." a voice murmured softly

within the depths of the darkness

The man looks steadily towards where he can only assume the eyes are

"One last sentence, and it is Time." he replied, dipping his quill once more

With the patient sigh of a being

where time was all and nothing, the silence proved acquiscence

The Old One scritch-scratched the last word and looked up

He stood and faced The Darkness

"It is Time."

Our author smiled steadily as the milky hand

snaked out of the inky depths of the cloak

With his last breath he murmured "Sweet Jesus"

And fell, the wind rocking the lamp at the end of the scythe

As Death moved on

Posted

i *like* this! very vivid imagery. i especially like the idea of bargaining with Death for time enough to write that one last sentence.

Oddly, this rather reminds me of On A pale Horse, of the Incarnation of Immortality series. An image of a compassionate Death, who will get the necessary job done yet patiently wait for one to finish writing.

This is very nicely done.

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