If my words are scribed unto a page
perhaps, perhaps their sentiment is real
and true: perhaps emotion shared is more
perhaps my lines are plain because I need
that proof that I am living, live, and loved.

Perhaps the truest beauty is to simply share
the feelings that pour out in times of angst.
Perhaps there are those souls who'd wish to hear
my own soul speak and to find solace in
its words, if truly words does speak the soul.

Perhaps the soul does not speak in words.
Perhaps the heart's inscripted cry is not
what truly quakes within the heart. Perhaps
my tumbling evanescent words are not
what truly is. Then what, you ask?

I say: if speaking straight what rolls from off
the tongue is not heart's song, if truly souls
are not so simple thus, but weep and weave
upon each other's limbs and leaves, then, Craft
is that which captures such: sound and rhythm, rhyme.

--GZ

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Daedalan, in the year 304 AF.