I pray,

For my writing style

To have (no) flaws

Or weakness as I grow up

To show my upbringing.

But my achilles heel may be

The Ink that'll definitely run out.

I imagine myself

Crossing the busy streets,

Running to the shop

To buy Ink with haste.

So I can continue with my writting,

So the burning words

My tongue doesn't disappear.

And I would forget them

Like a grandfather

Telling tales of his youth.

My Hector shall be my age

Catching up to me

And the arrow shot from

The bow of Apollo

Shall be blindness

Coming with age.

I shall teach my children

And grandchildren

The way of the words

And pray they'll find

Some relief from the cruel

Society. Lost in the burning

Smell of Ink

And the smell of old books

In a library, shall bring

Them peace.

I pray to never be Achilles

But if I was

I would leave a legacy

Of writers and poets

Behind

And pray, they'll met their Hector

Softly, without hate

Or reluctance.

I shall never be Achilles

But if I was

I'll leave a loving

Legacy behind

To continue.

©️ #Ethen.