Writing Prompt 23/08/2107

A thief breaks into the sultan’s most guarded treasure vault. The only thing in the room is a small wooden box, with the word “magic” carved into its lid.

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The enemy stands before

Perfection, ready to be marred

Striking down endless possibilities

To one flawed finale, 

Claiming it correct.

Boldly laying claim to withered words

Twisting trepidly that which

I barely know of

Stating struggle to win wonderment 

Praise perforating my achievement  

Reefing rhythm from its rut

Calling it clever as they struggle 

With stilted prose. 
Finished and alone, along the way back

Reigniting passion through pursed lips.