Cleansing
No one knows this more
Than the gracious soul I faithfully adore

Although I am rife with despair
I gladly seek, the words she crafts with care
Casting out, the talk of the day
I remain bound to stillness
Longing for her stay

Torn are we
Stern in our silence
With minds teetering, above turmoil and violence

Torn are we
To our fateful ends
As this treacherous voyage sways and bends

Now we must speak
With voices no longer frail or weak
Treasuring the warmth of our cackling bond
I grow in stature, with each word carefully spawned