 
        | 
            ------"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." Thomas Mann. | 
    The persistent silence overwhelmed
One heart among many others...
    A forlorn figure in the mist, obscured by heavy...
Forsaken, might she be? Or desolate within...
    The remnants of a sword, charred and now quite...
Encrusted in the foul blood of heinous deeds...
    The East
Beckons this soul...
    The remnants of a sword, charred and now quite...
Encrusted in the foul blood of heinous deeds...
    A forlorn figure in the mist, obscured by heavy...
Forsaken, might she be? Or desolate within...
    This poem is called a Nonet. It has nine lines...
Do breathe on me through thy parted lips...
    Trodden path, thou layeth ahead
An easy path for weary feet...