Poem: Dead Poets Can't Talk Back

-

Sometimes
words dry up
and get stuck
in my throat

I cannot speak
or describe the images
I see within my mind
cannot form the sounds

I am not heard
though I wave my arms
in desperation
no one sees me at all.

It would be so easy
to put down my pen
stare at the ink
in complete blankness.

Who cares if no one sees
Just do it for yourself
But words by themselves
just echo in my mind.

I can write them down
and shut them up in a drawer
or I can bare my soul
to an unseeing, uncaring world.

Perhaps it is better
for them to read them
long after the fact
but at that point...

will I be around to care? 

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