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
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