Words mean nothing,
A woman once told me,
Only actions count in this world,
It’s not what you say,
It’s What you do that matters.
For a poet it was a death sentence,
And it was the death of my words,
That began the road I walked for so long,
Until I found myself quite literally,
Without anything to say…..
And now, I have found words again,
But I still fear that she spoke the truth,
Because the things I have done,
Seem to make the things I say…..
Irrelevant,
Useless,
Powerless,
Against the overpowering weight of reality.
Words are what I have known,
All my life….expressing me without reservation,
And yet when I spoke with conviction,
Spoke with truth,
After holding secrets for so long,
It meant nothing, it saved nothing,
It changed…..
Nothing.
I cannot believe that silence is the answer though,
When I have finally found my voice again,
And yet the damage has been done,
And even as I write I second guess myself.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs,
I want to lose whatever sanity I have left,
And just be a poor poet again,
To feel the love that the words make,
To feel the passion that they carry,
To feel that words can be enough,
That Words can change things,
That the words can make a difference,
When actions are futile,
And impotent in the darkness.
In the end it matters not,
The world keeps turning,
Life goes on,
And the Ink runs from the papers,
Tossed into the gutter by the wind and rain.
Words Fail me,
Actions haunt me,
What is left?
