It’s nice to know I’m listened to, and read and understood–
At least that’s what they tell me all the time.
But I can think of only one who speaks his mind (and should)
That I don’t prompt for feedback on a rhyme.
I go along and write a verse or poem here and there
And put one out for people now and then,
But I have written less and wondered if my readers care.
The silence on this matter doesn’t end.
It’s sad to think that if I stopped and kept it all within,
That few or none would ever say a word.
I didn’t even realize it was bugging me again
Till one friend wrote and told me I was heard.
Now this is silly and I know I need to let it go,
Still, I’m a normal human and I hate
To learn I’ve let such feelings overflow.
I’ve let my sadness squelch how I create.
So someone speak out, talk to me, pick up the phone and call…
Should I stop with what I’ve already done?
Does what I write mean anything to anyone at all?
Or am I simply writing for just one?
I’m sure that I will keep on putting words down on a page,
But share it? That, my friends, is what remains.
There’s so much on the internet to read this day and age.
Perhaps I’m done here. Nothing’s wrong with change.