a pantsers sonnet

Writ & Ruin

By J.W. Arthur

I gave them breath, my essence sealed in ink,

Then loosed each in a cold and darkened place.

I sowed the seeds of horror, made them think,

And saw life fall to death with fragile grace.

The tales were wrought of woe, their omens grim,

My hands were clean as fate would test them all.

Each fought their sins and madness bred within,

Some lived, most died, and many missed their call.

I’d hoped they’d break beyond by their accord,

A path untouched by plot or guiding hand.

The pain became a cost I long ignored,

A legacy I now refuse to brand.

So here I am, my pride a quiet ache,

I’d write that hurt again for truth’s own sake.

Copyright MMXXV by J.W, Arthur