By putting my pencil down on this paper
And writing words which sound alike
I allow you to see a sliver of my soul
And can only pray that you'll be kind

Judgment rarely stands as friend
Whether condemning or being oneself condemned
It seems if such judgment is our only ally
We'll all be lonely in the end

So I beg you please be kind
Though if criticism is justice sweet
Leave your thoughts, kind words ...or hate
(Though I pray that's not the case)
And leave them at my feet

And I'll read them later
For first I must wonder

If criticism is harsh
Yet justice be called sweet
How can both in equality be lain
In complacency at my feet?

In consequence of temperament calm?
Nay.
Tranquil perception?
Perhaps.
(Death's worst trap, no doubt)
And I wonder if from this vacuity
I shall ever find a way out...