Floating on in a void of time Gazing upon fleeting lives Feeling immortal Worshiped as such But even the light of the sun Must one
I now stand over the anvil of writing sweating, eyes open, hammering away at the sword of words. I heat it in the coals of passion, tinker with the hammer of revision, and cool it in the waters of reflection. I still have a long while to go as I improve my work, but in this case, the journey is just as important as the goal. I am fervent in this business now that I can look beside me and see that writing was my ally all along, not some chore forced upon me by the evolution of man.