What is left to say when they only demand silence,
When declarations are as a whisper in a hurricane.
The statements, the testaments, and all the time spent;
Professings, salvations, and salutations are remnants
Of bitter endeavors to hold firm a misguided mission.
Nothing in these historical patterns of pain-play
Has proven anything other than feeble gestures.
Time and time again does the exposed weakness rule
And grasp the brass ring of inevitability and apologies
That leave the unfulfilled hollow and wondering why.
Falling grains of sand slip through the tiny fingers
Of yesterday’s hour-glass memory again and again.
The distances between the measured meetings
Echo with each parting and passing gratitude
Whitewashing the world to make it comfortable.
Repeated gestures rebound with empty arms,
The obvious finally made known to the oblivious.
Reciprocation parceled in pieces of give yet take
Trickle forth like a pebble’s rippling waves against
The incessantly pounding ocean upon a cliff.
What were believed to be facts are wants and wishes
With an immeasurable gap of cosmic orbit between them
That no amount of rewording or rephrasing would alter.
The reaching out that sought to solder the broken circuit
Is finally reflected and revealed as nothing other than hubris.
What matter the source of this mental manifestation
When the closing walls of reality crush the horizon.
Nothing of merit remains, and repeated attempts
Have only left one bereft and in winded resignation
Within a room of empty wells and broken quills.