It’s prying fingers touched my soul,

A tickle in the back of the brain?

Domination is not the goal.

The words are not for gain.

Just to quench the thirst, and slow the roll,

To touch the smoothness of the grain.

And know the truth is dressed in black,

But sometimes of the whitest white.

To utter words impossible to take back,

To fight the good fight.

To steel the soul against attack.

All the words in the world go by

And I but grab a few

In the darkest soul or the bluest sky

String them up together to test you.

Feel the need to ask me why?

Just know that questions are what we do.