Healing the Ring
Dreamed 1984/8/22 by Chris Wayan
Rings are given to some.
Dark, heavy, laden with fire, bearing a terrible ruby. They confer dread powers, at a cost: fanning the bearer's hunger. It's called Devilsfire. We burn inside with longing unknown; unknowable perhaps. You must fight the urge to lash
At first, pride: your eyes pool with wise.
So face desire, set limits, use the Ring-
|
I was given a Ring. Burnt and pitted came,
by the great heat of the Ringlord's hand. I've fought this ring an endless now, with some success, though I buy it with great pain: the Ring has blushed from dark iron to gold. In the struggle, though, I lost the stone. Hoped I'd tame its blaze to a life-hue or spirit-clear, but it stayed dire flame, heat-shattered at last in the fight. Friends call me Ring-Bearer, for I came
As yet. As yet. But when our battle's done,
One Ring to rule them all, |
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