Poems Fall Softly

Often it feels as though our poems are works of futility        
Spilled on the pure white page like blood from open wounds        
To convey our deepest sorrow,        
Our living pain and breathtaking love        
but who really is listening?        
Perhaps only lovers who enter the darkness        
Falling like shadows in the depths of the underground        
but even if our silent eyes are not the open windows        
we long to lay upon the verse singing in our souls        
Still we are a chorus crooning to the deaf preacher      
in invisible ink      
       
       
(*inspired by the poem, "Alabaster Words" by shadowsfallsoftly)        
jj