Between the Lines

The waves on the shore speak with no meaning, yet convey much.

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The winds in the trees whisper nothing, all the same sharing volumes.

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The mountains utter no sound and still impart wisdom of the ages.

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When you speak, I understand your words, but they have no depth.

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I hear each syllable, but your sentences are void of revelation.

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You leave me to interpret that which has no meaning, only emptiness.

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All I can do is read between the lines, amidst negative spaces.

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How am I to discover even a fraction of what makes you… you,

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When you selfishly withhold the knowledge I desire, even require?

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I am at the mercy of one who knows little and contributes less.

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I might as well be conversing with the wind, the waves, the mountains.