trying

there must be a reason that

at the center of almost everything we do

or poems we write

or songs we sing or prayers we chant or plays we recite

under all the half smudged ink and legible words

there are but only a few motivations:

i love you

i miss you

i feel pain

there’s a certain type of irony in the fact

that the only feelings we feel the need to describe

are the ones that we never can

the ones that exist outside the power of words

and outside the meaning of life,

sinking its nails through us.

but so many of us find comfort in words

so we try endlessly (even if in vain)

to show the world everything we feel

through cognizance

of our own heart,

and when it doesn’t fit quite right,

we try over and over again

somedays even trying so hard the edges get dents

and the words lose meaning

and look what it’s brought us

millions and millions of books

filled with different kinds of pains

and the shelves whimpering softly with longing

and the libraries that whisper,

i love you i miss you i feel pain

i don’t think we’ll ever-

be able to write those feelings

be able to explain exactly what we feel

but I think that’ll be okay

because maybe trying is the part that counts

and we only ever need to convey half

of what we feel because,

the rest half happens

in the heart of the person who listens

so let's keep trying.

-s