A Poem

How does one consolidate such great feeling, Such knowledge, such powerful, almost frightful thought? Those passionate notions That I am sudden to see Unconscious revelations Making themselves known How has it then made itself known to me, to you, and all others And yet, has failed to be seen to the one that truly matters The one that will make it all better Does he see it and scoff? Does she close her ears to the compositions of your life? I’ve known many deaf to such arts I will know many more in the years to come And of course, I am left to see your deep lakes of pains I get it—I want to be known and plunged into To be discovered beneath the wailing surface Into the depths of deeper comprehension And I want every single drop to matter To the one that will make it all better To the one who believes in the purpose of words I have tried to muster such a brilliance for years, And more so to recapture your curiosity for my existence While the natural, bloodless pains seep into every wrong region Eyes closing with disgust and misinterpretation Shaming the one and only confidence “a poem” has earned Could you not even acknowledge at least, my struggle? Could you not admire the work, the effort, the sweat of futile determination? Would you dare even drink from it, From the poison of bitterest truth? 6/25/18 4:00AM