Spell it out

Sometimes in life I forget how to spell and it dampens my spirit, as my ego knows well. So off to the world to explore in my craft, a simple raft, un-staffed. Here floating in the ether with no guide and no tether, all these thoughts are related like birds of a feather. They heed warnings and wisdom, spout good with the lies, but the truth always guards us, and it has eyes. I know not what I do, where I be, what I've done. Is there even a battle? Is it already won? While I cover my tracks and sharpen my axe I discredit myself as a ploy, this way I have no reputation to destroy. And the longer I linger the clearer things get so I go back to the haze where the truth is reset, here the battle is met. Now there is the chaos presenting itself, as an all seeing demon, an elf on a shelf. Whispering wriggling writhing in anger, it lashes at nothing in spite of my presence. It pretends not to know so I go a bit closer. And see what I see: the whispering it seems, is directed, has affected the innocents' dreams! Evil, or absent, neglectful regret is no excuse for this horrid example it set. The sleeping sub-conscience that really means well should not be enduring this predator, this unnecessary hell. And so I spell, out of wanting, out of desperation I guess. These spellbound creatures are under duress. As I practice my art I do come across trolls and the bridges and ridges are littered with skulls of those who gave into their tricks. I don't answer their questions as I have gathered my own, a riddle is a riddle as a riddle is shown. So I cast a few spells made of humorous action and reactions I get are autonomous distractions, undamaging. Time to use imagination. The enemy I would seek is void of creation; a pushover, a strawman, dry in the sun it doesn't bother to run. Fight fire with fire they say and it works, in ways that are wondrous to those it would urk. As I ponder about my wand and the wood of which it's made, not holly wood of course, covered in the sacred blood it has slayed. Spelling is Magick, of that have no fear, for without we are doubt, but the truth will be near. As I dabble and scrabble in this unknown space I appreciate the mystery of history at my own pace. I reap the harvest of freedom then sow my own seeds, just imagine the potential of all the future breeds. This everlasting war that will never be won, like a sun it will die, Like a star be redone. I like writing, its a much more efficient yet inept way of fighting. Did you hear that? I farted. I'm just getting started. I have yet to speak my true mind don't mind that squeak.