Caught in the current
Of those voiceless words,
With an envy suppressed
Just beneath the tinctured bones;
Ah, I feel the broken flow,
But is that freedom mine?

Wisdom flutters on wind,
Darting here and drifting there;
Yet in my ignorance I seek
Some way to hold it in hand.
Perhaps I never fell from grace,
But I attempted all the same.

Mimicry is not forever
Made to stray from schemes;
Well-bred was the teething tongue
Versed in innate imagery;
Ah, I may not know a thing,
Certain truth has flown and gone,
But, at least, within this sphere,
I am not the only one.