What do I do when
Opening my mouth to voice
To carefully shape what I think are words of beauty to Your ears,
I am flung roughly aside
And, raising my head
I find myself as aggravating background noise
White, static, dispensable
Pandemonium.

These things I reach within and offer up
My heartbeat, my every breath
This sacrifice is superfluous, I know
But the part of me that longs for eternity rants incessantly, never-ending
What is it to You?

When I close my eyes and release what must be a naïve and
Raw, scratched-up version of my soul, a fleeting memorandum that is Nothing compared to the
Clear, high articulation from a perfect, unblemished vitality
Well, I know it’s a long way up, but
From that insurmountable height, what do You hear?

What is it to You?
My utterances, coming from
Somewhere deep down
Something I hold up with
My all
My everything -
Is it just an anxious squeak, streaked with brazen fear of rejection, or
A plaintive cry that hungers for just a moment –
A fleeting second of Your attention?
You’re everything to me, but
Who am I to reach out
And take what You laid in plain sight
To seek
MORE
And then a little more,
Of You?

After it’s all finished, this blind and useless struggle between my heart and mind,
A futile death-march with no apparent dawn or destination
What do I do
When I find that both sides are ashen, wasted armies of dry bones, and
No one wins?
What do I do
When they crumble before my eyes, and I’m wandering lost yet again
Drowning in crushing, impenetrable debris
My frail arms thrashing a testimony of my curse, mocking
clinging to the whispery wind

What do I do then?