The Book - The healing properties of writing
Frodo's book waits for him to write about the demise of the One Ring
Silently the book, it waits for cheerless ink to fill each page
With fateful tales of the past: of hope, despair and violent rage.
The pen, it lures injured hand, urging, daring it to write
So that all will come to know how Fate had lead to seizing bite.
Empty pages, lifeless, void, until the mighty quill takes flight.
Spilling sorrow laden thought upon the endless pages, white.
Mem'ries brim with unbid tears, a porous dam too weak to hold.
They billow forth in massive waves as desperate tale now unfolds.
The story of a simple Ring, its evil cloaked in burnished gold.
It lured with its siren cry that promised power, fearless, bold.
In liquid flame it had been cast, but not contrived, no purpose planned.
With cutting bite the thief removed, then fell with Precious in his hand.
The book is closed, its binding worn, now filled with pain and anguish, vast;
To heal a hopeless aching soul too worn with trials unsurpassed.
Silently the book, it waits for dreams fulfilled, of days now bright;
And hopeful tales soon to come where joy and happiness ignite.