Bone and Sinew

All I have are words. I will never be a man of riches, nor privilege, nor exquisite means. I have, instead, only these humble words that pour from my heart; bled through ink onto bone of paper and sinew of print. Words that I have felt so deeply within my very being that they have shaken the surface to be set free into the world. To find their way to that which gives new meaning and sends them soaring on high with such elation and grandeur! Though softly.

For the heart they seek is a delicate thing. As easily bruised as eager to love. For no greater reason has there been to take such care with the words that fall from foolish lips. And yet, for no greater reason has there been to offer such foolishness.