so many poems…

so many poems

i wonder
if
anyone
stops and stares
at
these billboards
of
my mind
the words
that
i place
upon
the page
i suspect
most
will be forgotten
along
with
my name
that is
of
course
not much
of a surprise
we poets
for centuries
have pasted
our feelings
on
every surface
possible
words
often erased
by
ignorant
self-serving hands
or
those frightened
by the truth
but
we have
had
our say
and
on occasion
are able
to give voice
to those
who dare
not speak
giving voice
to those
unheard
we poets
attempt
to yell above
the vulgar platitudes
of
concern
and
empty promises
promises
for a better day
if only the oppressed
will
give
it
time
time
the one thing
they’re permitted
to have
and
oppressors
want them
to waste it
waiting
for what will
never
come

formication…

i
listen
for
sounds
just beyond
these
invisible doors
wondering
if
anyone
hears my words
i ask myself
are these poems
just
ushered
into
darkholes
where
each
simile
and
metaphor
are pulled
into
fields
of
apathy
from
which
they will never
escape
nor
send
back
signals
of
their survival
it would appear
the
whole
process
is like that
of
faith
belief
beyond
reason
writing
to
cleanse
that
feeling
of
insects
crawling
beneath
society’s
skin