Weaver of Words, Singer of Songs

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Had I a thousand mouthes, a thousand tongues, 

to speak endless streams of honeyed- or bitter- words to your heart, I would.

Oh, I would!

So, perchance (no matter how meek that chance), you will hear them and be inspired.

And ah, all the joys of Heaven and Earth be mine!

Oh seeking, aching, voiceless masses, hear me.

This song, rushing from me in a wash of passion and rapture,

I weave for you and you alone.

I speak to you, those who I have never met, or those I love.

I speak to you, all those in need or in longing of my words.

Or, of someone simply to give voice to your's .

Mine is the mouthpiece and pen that will weave into being your love and sorrow,

Pain and strength.

And oft' beyond the beauty are words so harsh as to burn!

Raw as life, and as cruel.

Cutting like stone to your heart and soul.

Touching upon the scars you hid from the world outside.

Hark, all the bruised and battered of body and mind,

But innocent of heart.

My wayward sea-birds, longing to breath free.

Listen now and I will become the spring wind beneath your wings.

Let my poetry, gilded words straining to convey your heart,

Raise you up and out of the gloom-cloud bearing down.

Will you, heavy hearted and hurt spirits of night, find release in my requiem of you?

Might you, feather-light and bright white souls of serenity, relish in the joys of this soul song?

Hear me, please, as I pour my soul through this pen.

These words are for you: all you hearts seeking freedom and the ecstasy of life!

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