Figments of a thousand solitary thoughts flew all around me
And long have I intended to chase and hunt them down by choice
For I knew: if they would lay locked within the safe keeping of a boundary
They were to entangle in a word, and be the silent figment of a voice

For what is the height of love, but merely a thought astray
If it doesn't speak in her own defence
And what is the fire of passion, but a long and worn out way
That leads to nothing, if words would not grant it recompense

Yet all these words speak for the echoes of all that came before
That too once spoke and were no stranger to sheer humanity
T'is the thought that finds the sweet eloquence it bore
That moulds the most pure and sincere consistency