Yet Still

my words pour from my fingertips in the hope of understanding to make the world a little clearer and all they do is muddle it I write furiously with no comprehension of what it is I write but with the full understanding that I have to write always hoping that someone will read and understand tosee the clear picture of the portrait I painted of a person unknown to all but existing in a place that well known to the point that people seek him without fully comprehending what they seek until he, himself intervenes on their behalf and puts out his hand, which most reject for people want to make their own way, but still I write not fully comprehending what I am writing till the point where I lay down in exaustion