Weight in Words

Perhaps I am the fool
Sitting here and wondering
If the words I see before me can possibly be true.

Here you are, apparently so grand
As to think you have any right
To tell a young girl she is only worth her weight in words?

What makes you so wondrous,
Dear friend Jamethiel,
That one must be a scribe as you to just be worth your time?

What makes you so elegant,
Dear friend Jamethiel,
That you think the public eye is the proper place for matters of the
heart?

Perhaps I am the fool,
Though I more than slightly doubt it.
Your words so pompous,
Your reputation so foul

It no longer does surprise me,
That you, Dear friend Jamethiel, would think your self so worthy
That you, Dear friend Jamethiel, would find yourself so deserving
That you, Dear friend Jamethiel, would put a woman�s heart on the line,
That you, Dear friend Jamethiel, are nothing more than what you seem�

Transparent
Hollow
Self-serving

And yet, my words mean nothing,
For yours apparently have already won,
Wooed the woman with your blackened quill,
Placed her on a path of pain that now cannot be hidden.

Perhaps I am the fool,
Sitting here and wondering,
If the words I see before me can possibly be true.

Here you are, thinking your self so grand,
Giving yourself the wicked right,
To tell a young girl she is only worth her weight in words.


Penned by my hand on the 11th of Valnuary, in the year 371 AF.