Wordsmith

I am the one

who whispers

the wordsmith

in the paper forge

laying syllables 

on the fire

the bird

with my wings 

of ink 

the sword bearer

cutting runes 

in blood 

to lay the damned

back into their 

halls of obscurity 

my lips 

were not made 

for pressing 

their red Zhuwen seal

upon you 

with love

but for releasing

magic 

from the secret 

spaces

that no one else

can open