Poetry coming from anyone's fingers is
not what I seek. I want but the expression of
soul fraught with anger, my brother. And managed to
show it through best-written piece I've seen from you yet.
Tactic distrust of your poetry comes from the
fact that you bash the one thing that I find to be
stauncher than human ties, stronger than binds of love--
being the Church, that. I wonder if knowest you
people you hurt in entirety when you come
barrelling down the wide avenues of public streets
(crying out loud against groups that are natural
feeling that you are not telling the story well.
Poetry, populists always do clash for the
poets do often frustrate the wide masses much)
full disregard for the feelings of those like you
wanting just safety in thinking their thoughts. For I
too know the people who dislike your voice, and who
want but to hear the soft silence of your voice closed.
I do not.

Know, my poetic young brother, that when you deem
fit to make posting to public boards (this) that you
give yourself up to the ravings of men like me.
We will not go away either, my brother. For
E'en as your nature compels you to write for us,
so does our nature compel us to grow to rage.
Perfect container for righteousness, no, she ain't.
But she's our Church.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Scarlatan, in the year 273 AF.