Read me, Hear me.
I am existing somewhere
Strewn between each letter that
Your eyes caress.
I'm mingling with the meaning
I've chosen to impart
With riddles, with metaphors,
With everything but
The truth.

I'm tangible.
Whisper my writing and know
That I am a scrawled sentence
Of desperation;
A Vagrant, caught wandering
In the downpour
Without the language
To capture the way
The rain smells, or the wind tastes
Or the earth sounds.

Oh read, and know
That I am crying out
Along each line to the seraph
Of a letter that I've struggled with
To grant a modicum
Of the nonsense left in my heart.
I've cried out
Thousands of words;
Screamed them until they furrowed
In paper, in computer screens
Into the faces of hapless lovers
To no such avail.

At the end of the day, read and know
That my writing is as futile
As loving a dead man,
An errant, wandering heart,
And a depth-less, angry river.