People chase answers, neat and clean
Bright lights that hide what lies between
But clarity... oh, clarity stings
It shatters safety of simpler things

It cuts, it burns,
It finds cracks at every turn.
The fault, the edge, the seams
Where nothings perfect, and nothings a dream.

Yet ill take the cracks and its brutal sight,
From hiding in some borrowed light.
Because in those fractures, I see the start,
The quiet hum of honest art.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Sarapin, in the year 967 AF.