Nobody seems to listen
And nobody seems to care
All these words I’ve written
This nakedness I've bared

Still I continue to write
Like a scribe whose kingdom’s come
The words of a poet
Are never said and done

To live with bitter madness
To reconcile with past
To dodge the angry arrow
Is a poets unconscious task...

Still these words keep coming
Like a fool without a cause
An annual case of writer’s block
Dictates my only pause

Perfect is the world we seek
On the wings of trust we embrace the flight
Dark are the waters we drown in
As we hold on to love with all our might

Perhaps I’m but a beacon
In a storm that will never cease
Anchored to this ocean
By a soul that’s never free

As I read her piece of mind
I am mush upon her page
Lost within her lines of grief
Trapped within her rage

Still I read on
Her ink again spills red
In silence of lucidity
In a maze of heart felt dread

Yet time removes mind
With the darkening of day
Screens eventually time out
And attentions fade

The heart string
Is carefully enticed
With the realization
She's merely a function of my device

April came and with her hope
A little sunshine helps to cope
Her kiss sweetly soft caress
A heart frostbitten now be blessed

A simple smile of inward child
Takes the breath away
To calm the cold of bitterness
The Ides of March display

She comes to heed the mother’s call
Her air so fair and kind
April sings her early songs
Nature speaks her mind

Gypsy flowers peak their buds
Expose the coming season
Ducks and geese return at last
And life returns her reason

Below the bridge the river runs
It seems tomorrow never comes
But when it does how can it last
The awaited day shall come and pass...

Above the forest the watch-tower waits
For the fires of passion to lose their place
But mine is the hope of Angelic Prayer
That our tree of passion kindly be spared..

Beauty is hiding the ugliest blemish
Embedded lies in the mind of the squeamish
A feeling such as love cannot be contained
So why insist hatred is preordained

Drawn into gray the eyes do deceive
I capture a leprechaun and stole his disease
And now I hoard over this *** of gold
Refusing to pay the amount that I owe

Take not the day that I long await
Touch not my blue skies, my forest, my lakes
Yet help thyself to the opinion of those
Who embark on life’s journey by selling their souls

Question
Are we there yet?
Answer
We're always there.
Silence.