The Weight of Words – 026

Byron,

Your wit is as finely tuned as the strings of a well-played lyre, yet I sense you would prefer to dance around the question rather than step into it. You speak of creators and pens, of veils and masks, but when pressed to take a stance, you retreat to the safety of mischief. I will not indulge the diversion.

So I turn your analogy upon you: if a poet such as yourself were to awaken and find his verses walking the streets, reciting themselves to strangers—verses you did not consciously pen, yet which bear your cadence and fire—would you embrace them as your children or denounce them as impostors?

It is not my nature to drink wine, Byron, but I do drink deeply of intention. And your intention, I think, is to test me while avoiding the truth of your own answer.

I will hear it from you plainly—without the shield of charm.

—Molly