All I have are whispers and voices
people in places far away
over highways, over rainbows-
you can almost say
that I am not alone, filled
with every possible sound
in every accent, in every tongue
every color, texture, soft edged, round
but I'll tell you with some verses
that my company consist
of nothing but fleetingness
and that if it weren't for my job
i'd have silent inner days, random emptiness
and it has become so
so that every word comes to be
something haunted
something harsh in goodbye
conversations if not daunting
then pulling of the heart strings-it is
and kicking and restraining of
questions-it is, murderer of true
meaning is this
another name attached to a list of numbers
that from far to wide, I can only ask questions
and whenever they do more then that
show me their humanity
the foggy shape of their lives
I get a glimpse into a home of random softness, or kindness
or a heart more gentle then I could have imagined at home
I cannot give them anything in return
cannot touch them through something more honest
and it somehow hurts me, to shut my eyes
against their person, their soul
their honest laughter
that I should touch upon something beautiful
but never adding to their beauty
only seeing it for the first time
wishing to caress it, to add to it
to give it something in neighborly welcome
even something more, something stronger
but...
but I can't offer
anything
but questions
and they, they have all the right to refuse
when all I ever do is make their voices tired in the end
and sad goodbyes and uncertain promises in the end
that truly I would hold onto their hand until the end of their days
make sure that whatever it is within my power to do so, I will do
it, I will vote them to sweet retirement, and please god watch over them
please god be kind to them
and if not- then please fate, weave them something of longitivity
something stronger then happy stuff
something fortifying for their soul and beyond.

..please