The encumbered poet

Strange are the ramblings of a loquacious self. Yet stranger are the thoughts unspoken. He treads the path like a feral elf. His footsteps, heavy with shackles unbroken. Spare him your pity, your shame, your sorrow. Words are the only comfort he would borrow. The parchment is his remedy and the quill his peace. His words forever etched on a golden fleece.