Inept and inexact are words,
Which, all throughout my life have been
My servant, I their master, when
I needed something to be heard
Or written. I have come to see
That flaky are these treasured things.
See, hollow sound around me rings:
Though I speak words to them; they, me;
I cannot process sounds, extract
Their meaning, speak, or comprehend.
Alas, my former stalwart friend
Has broken down our precious pact.
Through words my world was torn apart,
However; yea, through words was I
Inform'd my Rainbow Dash did die:
O pow'rful, terr'ble, wretched art!
At last, words can be wolves in sheep's
Skin; power, surely they possess.
Sometimes they help; sometimes, distress:
For now, words fail me, and I weep.