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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Forsaken


Loki Wyrd

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I am but a simple, common man;

I can't do it all, but I do the best that I can.

The winter is harsh, and chills to the bone;

The wind howls and the trees they do moan;

The future looks bleak as the winter grows cold;

The food will not last, the supplies will not hold.

I must venture out into the pale face of death;

There is no time to dawdle, I hope there's time left;

I must risk the cold so the others may eat.

Keep on walking, though I can't feel my feet;

My stomach is empty, and I'm growing weak.

It can't be much further - God save the meek!

But God is not here in this time or place,

Even he couldn't bare the expression on my face.

I fear all of my toil is for not, for I can not go on;

The blizzard beats down on me, it knows it has won.

I couldn't see salvation, even if it was near;

That I walked right by it was always my fear;

I shall never know now, for I am at my end.

Come for us forsaken, for us you do send!

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Hey Appy, I'm surprised you're still responding to most of my posts. You're too good to me. :D

I haven't really been around here much, I just peek in quickly from time to time. So unfortunately I haven't been reading many of the writings you and others have been posting. :(

The poem has somewhat of a story behind it...relating to my current poverty stricken state.

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There is an urgency to trying to head a cause as great and as difficult. It is frightening to be the provider that others rely upon.

 

Your writing conveys that very well.

 

I hope that in your personal challenge to meet and overcome, that you realize that there is a tremendous inner strength that is forged, fueled, and fanned by accepting (even perhaps if not entirely by choice) such a role and challenge.

 

When all seems the bleakest, know that you have a strength to withstand.

 

-Illi

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