They Scream Their Song

Long dust ingenues
Figment languages
Promises of what
May be with sacrifice
All scream their song
In my ears
All pre-dawn
And ink-night long

Their call
To where I’ve yet to go
Pulls me where I roam
Remembered smiles
Untired and unwilling to
Not try
Every errant compliment
Every sting of skin
Cramp, nosebleed
Anxious hidden moments
No one but mirrors see

For the able living
And the grandiose gone
Sing their song
And I cannot be other
And wishing to be one
Echoing out
Knowing every
Thing
Each attention
Or little deed done
Is one instrument wrung
With something beyond
Holding and striking me
And my notes
To new places
New connections
And my focus
My words
And my calls
To go on.

By J.W.H. Hobbs