The Poet

"... and thus the poet sat, reminiscing, dreaming of better days. He thought and sat and waxed poetic, but such was not a solution. He had used poetry as a medium of communication before, but lost anyway. And so he sits, hoping, praying, believing in a better time, when he was happy. But observe that he was not really happy then; 'tis but an illusion."

"And so he continues, in a quandary, unable to move or act, lost to eternity, writing in shadow."