The Writer
He had just written his first book
All his siblings gathered to take a look
It was mystical and wonderful thats for sure
His book had caused quite the uproar
Yet even under all that stress
He was always determined always tried his best
When he was feeling sad or down
Writing poems got rid of his frown
From underneath his feet was swept
The glory of the red carpet
He didn't worry,falter or groan
He just continued writing,this time alone
As he walked a dimly lit street
A stranger in a corner he chanced to meet
"Answer three riddles" the stranger said
"Get one wrong and you'll lose your head"
There was sweat on his forehead as well as his palm
Trying to will himself to stay calm
By the time the stranger began
The writer grinned for he had a plan
Said the stranger:
"Who can't see, though they have eyes
And people who can they slightly despise"
Said the writer:
"Oh I see, its all in the mind
For the people you speak of are blind"
The stranger decided to try again
This man would feed his seven children
Said the stranger:
"What will do as you do, and say as you say
It copies you yet the wrong way?"
Said the writer:
"From him you would require no protection
For you can't be hurt by your reflection"
The stranger panicked and paced to and fro
He had to ask something this man wouldn't know
Said the stranger:
"Oh you poor little lamb
Can you answer the riddle of who I am?"
Said the writer:
"Well... based on how you act
Someone whom I should not turn my back
But through your intentions i can tell
You are a man-eating demon from hell!"
The demon shrieked in a fit of rage
Feeling trapped as if in a cage
Then he saw a dangerous sight....
As he was hit by a beam of holy light
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