I sat down with my heart,
a visual memory.
Yet, if one were to think about it further
are we not [factually] enslaved to our hearts?
I felt a presence, yet how can I know?
Words fail me;that which I do not know
A torn correspondence –
I do not know.
If I were to be separated by a stanza, would the world care?
That which is aforementioned above is clearly a question brought forth by inexperience of life.
That is not an arrogant statement