I research the words, cudgeling my brain
seeking to understand, my head filling with pain
to scared to say help me, or to someone to explain
knowing a true Child, would seen the words as knowledge to gain
I see only hidden meanings, I cannot find
twisting and turning trapping my mind
frustration grows, and self doubt
surely if I was smart, I'd have this figured out.
I watch my soul crumble, falling in so much dust
in my opinions and thoughts I no longer trust.
I'm a sword that has been shattered, against the forge
as I am shaped anew I must swallow back my gorge
for I cannot see myself, I am lost in my life
what do I see, what do I do? all to me is strife.
the meaning are lost, and frustration wins
I am weak, as I confess my doubt, my anger, and my sins

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Phaestian, in the year 287 AF.