my words - a cataract
choppy, rough
tumbling, blocked
sluggishly spilling to a marshy morass

my words - a drawing
a child's, crude
broken lines, confused angles
with no parents to praise despite the dross

my words - a larvae
dull, dead-hued
leaf-thin as my thoughts
humbly hatching into a meager moth

my words - a whisper
quiescent mumbles
susurrations in a library's roar
the stooped servant beneath the gaze of giants

yet through my words
through their dusty, cracked window
i now see the world
and feel the words
of poets

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Ero, in the year 714 AF.