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,
FOUR NOTES, YEARS LATER
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