If it is my place, my thing, to write then write I must
for such things as thoughts may permit a future untarnished.
Let these words, these letters, and syllables be the jest and disguise,
the folly and forlone, and by the grace of solitude rain down upon
this world like a vision of things to come.
No matter the essence the bodies or styles- this I know; no matter what I will prevail.
I will make it through and on the other side- be better for it.
This as solemn pray, this as precursor- unbound and thus exposed rush to the rail
and with the spray bath me in thoughts, words, deeds.
Bring forth the magic of creation, the science that is sentient that holds no barriers,
no banners save that which is culmination of the sweat I bear and the stroke beneath this pen.
Thus, release my tongue, and hidden vision and beneath me form a pillow of expanse and the letters appear in the foam, in the flow.
This I deem worthy, this I deem right.