And just like that I was back
Old friend, New song
And once again I'm pierced
Now I sit here (as many of us have)
Do I even have the time to do this correctly? (I ask feebly)
Does one ever?
The reason to begin again is never because it makes sense
Those of us who do this... whose blood have traced the tales of old...
We never sharpen our quills out of boredom or calculation
There is no calculus to the heart
It's never that we realize something new
We've always one more story in reserve
The fear (and it's real) is that this one might be the last
What if the Muse never returns?
This is the nature of our fear
It isn't that the tale won't be told
It's that there will never be another bursting for its release
So is it time?
What if I wait?
Wouldn't it be.....
There is no calculus to the heart
