Here, not for long.

I will write today,
As I did yesterday,
but not the day before,
for I too am human,
and share the species frailties.
But I too am human,
and I share the same hopelessness.
The same virtue of forlorn need,
for finding substance in subtleties.

What I did not write was about,
the words which are seldom said,
life chimes in wind,
each sounding different to the gust.
I did not tell you about the pain,
about how we stuff our hearts,
in square shaped boxes,
made to fit square shaped hearts,
but not for heart shaped squares.
About how we long for meaning,
for substance in truth,
for resistance in words,
for acceptance in silence.

I did write about the world,
about life as one sees it.
About existence in pain,
and perseverance in boredom.
About longing for love,
and loving her long.
I wrote about the lies we tell,
the ones we believe.
and accept and abhor.
About the empty promises we make.