Whisper the sweet words of how to find you, darling blank slate.
Chalk dust might joyfully powder the air, for an ounce of solace.
But here I am, eyes slanted and crusty with tears gone; watery with more to come.
They will not allow the truth; instead masters of evil laugh knowingly.
So, I plead, to those that might hear. Please, just let me live. If not for myself, think of the children.
Humbly I seek.
Freedom and goodness a balm of life.
Or a psalm.