The Myth

Can never be summed up appropriately in prose:

“Amanuensis”

I am not a writer.
I am a savant
Paying homage to a dictionary god.
He infuses words into the void of cacophone,
Where I lie, and wonder
In a voiceless monotone
Of the curses of Eros
And the paradox of time;
Of the primal, unmanned pen,
and this wretched paradise.
A hydra come the day,
And an angel come the eve.
The vortex of damnation
Ebbs with tides of dusk’s reprieve.

One thought on “The Myth

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