I wish I could write him a letter
just to ask how he was doing.

If the food tastes different there
if the sky is bluer at 10 AM
if he can see the moon from his window

But really, all I want to know
is if he loves the crinkle of written-on paper
as much as I do

and if sometime, he might
want to write me back
just to feel the paper between his fingers
and the words beneath his palms?

My cries for help remain unheard and unanswered
as my soul lies wounded on the battlefield of life.
Left alone…here amidst the carnage and the dead.
Can no one hear my cries?
Does their spirit within them not say,
Stop . . .
Listen . . .
Do you hear that cry for help?
Can they not see the pain in my eyes?

Alas, but no one seems to notice.

My heart cries out in anguish, wanting someone
to understand, someone to tell me that they care.
I feel like a lost and wandering spirit seemingly
invisible even to those I love.
Trapped somewhere between Heaven and hell,
Not quite dead but no longer part of the living.
I continue to cry out for help praying to finally
be heard, understood and accepted once again.
mkt

Listen to his words
You'll know who he wishes to be
Watch him live
And you'll know who he is.

If you find
That who he is
And who he wishes to be
Is the same person

Consider yourself fortunate,
You have found a genuine soul.

moved to allpoetry.com :)