Words

Writing is a lonely pursuit
escaping persistent platitudes
and rag-tag-tied-together homilies
as we sip tea and flit about
avoiding those blank pages

Instead we sit on the hot porch
and watch as a raven flies 
with silent wings across the moon
distracted by the flickering light
when someone inside clicks channels

August heat drains emotions
leaving us hollow of meaning
but searching for a new truth
as every precious word is 
analyzed, categorized, and debated

Can some greater reality be found
from words carved piecemeal -- 
a substantial message creating a buzz
that spreads across the known world
or are we deluded to think that

c. 3/1/09, B. Riley