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The Wordsmith's Forge
The Writing & Other Projects of Elizabeth Barrette
Poem: "The Formless Ones"
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siege From: siege Date: December 9th, 2012 03:03 am (UTC) (Link)
In the progression of souls, we each eventually become warriors. The swords we earn never leave us, until we give them up through our actions, strikes borne of cowardice or hatred, violence without honor, destruction without purpose, and other such things. I bear the first sword I earned long, long ago, but it is no more than memory now. Its substance is a thought, and that thought now cuts through all that may ever be when I need it to.

But my favorite blade, that taught me how to cut so perfectly, is named Clarity.
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