Not Important

 

A soft sound comes wafting thru the trees.

The whispering sound of unwritten words.

A million unreceived thoughts

languishing thru space.

 

Curling around and seeking a receiver.

One who truly would appreciate the gift,

if not for technology.

If not for the human libido.

If not for the mental masturbation

of never happening relationships.

 

And in the distance, I see a dream crumble

Pieces and parts falling thru space.

and draw a ragged breathe

and wait for that one writer

who has felt the thrill

of penning thoughts to words.

 

Oh ye of impatient vices

hold thy ownself accountable

that there was no best seller

distracted by your name in lights

Did you not hear me call?

 

End transmission

6/24/06  12:42am