Telepathy
No one speaks of the great Lanarians in their halls of stone
Or of the brutal battles bruising and bashing the North
Of the mighty kings and chiefs and fantastical beasts that prowl and prance
As it seems they don’t exist
Oh, but they do, they do
Only in a single, tiny mind, yet they do
Ideas grow, a vine that is never fully satisfied
They nibble and chip at the mind
Demanding freedom from the shackles of one with no imagination
As they strive to survive
The Lanarians must do just that
Grow wings, fly from my head to the curious heads of others
They turn from words on a page to people on a stage
Painting a tale in the mind
No one speaks of the wonders of telepathy
Of how the most isolated can have the most influence
Revolutions are quietly born in dark rooms with a desk and paper and quill
For a man left alone with his most dangerous weapon
Can be quite dangerous indeed
The greatest amongst us can spar with these weapons
While those who ignore theirs just watch from the stands, shaking their heads
They use their weapons in impractical ways
Or let them build rust and rot
People must continue to grind at the whetstone
Lest they grow too old and frail to withstand the weight of the steel
I hope to be a great one day
A revolutionary who takes the throne without blood spilt
A creator that shares his work from his home
A storyteller without a word that parts his lips
Telepathy will be my friend
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