Frustration

I look for deep issues and come up wanting.

It’s an erosive, corrosive pastime.

I look for something significant to say

And find myself grasping at words,

The right words,

Words that carry weight and substance,

Words that impart meaning

And will spare me this cross that I bear

Commanding me to tell you what I see.

This curse.

This damned curse

Not worthy of an albatross

But just as troublesome.

But this maddening compulsion 

That is the source of so much joy and sorrow;

Why me?

Like a priest offering absolution

In an empty church

I sound matins and vespers

Proclaiming what I know to be true

Only to be met by my own echo.

I am forever tossing words up into the air

Like a shaman’s sticks and bones

Praying that when they settle

They form a pattern

That is a close approximation

To what I meant to say.

Why can you not hear me?

Why will you not listen?

I’ve laid out the pattern

I’ve given you so many clues

I’ve shown you the way

I’ve worked and reworked every word.

I have wrung the marrow from each syllable

And offered up a sacrifice of sorts

If you will not attend me,

If you will not hear me,

If you will not listen,

Then I have failed this test

But I’ve not surrendered the task.