Vocal Silence

I speak, but you do not hear.

I write, but you do not read.

The word becomes flesh but you do not see.

You walk right by without a second thought,

fading into dreams where I am not remembered

sifted away by mindless AI.

Your heart is not as mine,

for mine is not even tattable.

You do not take my hand.

~

‘Twas any of a number of little things

which might have pulled me back from the edge;

a simple hug until comforted & relaxed;

a promise kept;

a heartfelt comment left;

an acknowledgment that I exist

& that I matter.

~

But the word once written,

becomes something less,

without comment or note

beyond a momentary reference

to publishing & archiving

thirty seconds after submission

as that which calls itself Vocal remains silent

& no Holden Caulfield remains in the rye to prevent my falling...,

for we do not exist within the poem.

~

So I leave only one instruction,

should it ever be read,

“Burn after reading.”

~

Do not look upon my arms or back

for they are no more flesh or word

than my eyes or face,

my touch or tender embrace,

all evanescent within the throng

of those who matter.

~

For though I be ever-whelmed,

it is clear that I have never whelmed.

I walk through the valley of the shadows of death

for that is where I belong.

~

I understand that you will not walk with me,

for I see that your heart

is not as mine.

So do not take my hand

& I shall let it fall,

never to be raised

or taken again.