I am but one, of many faces
In a crowd and their thousands of laces
Lost in a sea of verbal utterings
My small words
Merely a consequence of mutterings.
I live a humble life of four
Sometimes five, hmm open that door?
Loss and agony have fueled some times
But love has languished truly divine.
Educated, but in the art of prose;
I persevere with steed and dedication
A pastime whimsy (but always in isolation)
I stand before you with merely a pen
But overcome with emotion I will write again.
These little words are what is true
Look past the crowds and see me again too.