Someone Somewhere Something

In the evening, at your desk, surrounded by,
If not creations, at least expressions
Of the many things I cannot say well
With my chosen tool, words,
splashing the walls, splashing paper
And the bits and bytes of the internet
With my efforts, best and otherwise
To say what words and colors are never enough
To say. To say love. To sing the darkness,
The confusion, the light, to portray dance
In lines and white space,
Things, a mind, my mind swirling,
A devil’s dervish of thoughts,
which you can handle, and your own emotions
which are more difficult.
Which is why I write. Why I paint.
Why I spend so much time wrestling
with demons and their friends while angels watch,
Wondering less who will win
than the entertainment value and what will be
worth talking about at dinner tomorrow night
And what will be forgotten
and so you do what you do,
hoping it all makes a difference
and leaves someone somewhere something
to remember.

About this poem

An old fragment, revisited.

Tom