And so I move onto something creative. I realised that it had been a while since I had written anything creative, and I found something in my Common Place Book that I had written. It is a small, incomplete poem, it surfaces around a fantasy world that I created some time ago, the aspects of which I have down pat. So I present to you the very ramshackled, broken poem:
Tale of Defian
A man walked into my halls today,
Of his name he did not say.
His flesh was pink, he wore a grin,
He was a man cleansed of sin.
He travelled far I could tell,
He was a tinker who wished to sell
Various spices, cloths and tales,
Knives, pots, hammers and nails.
He stopped once he could see
That no one was in the hall but me.
My presence was not made aware,
If not for my burning stare.
I've worked it out to be a fact,
My eyes burn bright against the black.
They shine right through the stone hall,
Illuminating the first few steps in all.
The tinker gasped and barely said
"Your eyes match the size of my head!
What beast are you that roams this room,
Or stone walls and darkest gloon?"
I sat at the back of the hall,
As I have done decades before
And surveyed the tinker up and down,
He was plump, juice and round.
He stood at many paces back
And could only see my eyes in the black.
I shined a grin, teeth like blades
"Every day I live, I fade."
Wearily a shaking step he took
In order to get a better look.
His eyes widened, he stumbled back,
His bag hit the floor with a deafening crack.
He let out a frightening shout
And clumsily took a dagger out.
He pointed it threateningly in my direction,
I stared at him, a moments reflection.
Arm thicker than the mightiest oak,
I brought it down with a cleaving stroke.
It missed him by inches and struck the ground,
Debris hit the wall with a clattering sound.
He fell to the ground in a fright,
But was mesmerised by a magnificent sight.
Where shattered stone had once been
It was mended, no cracks could be seen.
He looked at the ground and then at me,
As if to confirm what he did see.
He looked at my eyes and then at my arms
Uncovered by light they caused him alarm.
My skin is made of an unbreakable stone
It's colour is red and blood-like in tone.
Cracks reveal a pulsing glow,
Like the fiery tip of a volcanoe.
Scars of my past that forever linger,
From the middle of my arm to the tips of my finger.
The tinker was pale as if he was dying,
He said "By the Gods...you are Defian!"
Yes, as you can see it is unfinished. Oh, and I own it, it's (c) Nick Spellicy. So if you stole it, you're gonna get the fist shaking of a lifetime! But anyway, I may add to it, I may not, I'm unsure. Please comment and tell me what you like, what you don't like. Good day!