Rebuilding the Mental Patio - A poem of rebirth

I miss it. I wish to sit amid those many characters once more smoking my bent pipes, trying to ignore their criticism as the story crashes into some blockade. The Mental Patio, and the mystic fire-pit slowly are forming up again within the bone fortress of skull where my tales all begin, with smoke, coffee, and bits of determination. Come, my friends! I call forth again that circle around warmth that once I cherished so much, of imaginary friends who sit with me during striving to tell stories. Hark, a sparkle. Just a small ember of that old blazing cauldron that kept me warm while writing, and whose dancing flames lit shadows into distinct forms hinting at characters. I exhale slow, to excite that glow into the bonfire of imagination that once blazed in my mind, providing a strange inner space within my thick skull for tales birth, blossom, grow, and more. A hopeful Dyfedd Rex 29Aug2018
(edited due to me forgetting how to format stuff, it has been so long.)