There are times that I need to write,
But I have nothing
To write about.
Lying awake in the dead of night.
Keeping loyal company
To all my doubts.
There are times that I need to fight,
But I have nothing
To fight about.
Greeting the first rays of morning light,
As they besieged
My mental redoubt.
There are times I am filled with spite,
But I have nothing
To be spiteful for.
You asked me if I would be alright
As you paused, uncertain,
At the door.
There are times I need to hold you tight
But you are not here
Not anymore.
I nodded, and you smiled with delight;
As you left me alone
To fight this war.
I would write about you
But you are gone.
I would fight for you
To return home.
I am spiteful
For letting you leave.
These arms are empty
Without you in them.
And it is nobody's fault
But mine.
[Originally written by the player of Crow (Derakoth)]
