The ground trembled beneath your feet; From your conception was conceived a storm. Words flow from the rivers of your sorrows, but love prevails at the feet of its source.
At our first meeting, a great rift was unearthed; a clearing of air into our churning souls, in a world unfair and covered in a sea of holes.
Though your heart may quiver, present to such sweeping dark winds, your spirit has not shrieked or shied.
Hence you must rest and breathe for a while, given such a long and treacherous trial.
But do not let yourself be idle, keep making words your idols. Let the ink of your pen lead you, to the restitution of your destitution.
To DBP, from Matteo Schaffner 07.26.2024