The Letter

The Letter, The Letter
in attempt to make life better
or maybe it's just a curse.
As prayer and hope
left me scrounging for
empty promises,
and words muttered
by those
almost unconscious.

The Letter.
What do I say...
I see you're also gray.
Dragging yourself through everyday.
I too, understand this uneasy feeling.
Dear Sorrow,
It's not much to offer,
but I am here.
This time has remained the same.
Fighting without passion is like putting
the already deceased out
to defend a battle.
I wish life could be more of
what you want
not what we are forced to be.
Let it be recorded in history
that I believe in your dream
more than
any other sediments beside you.
This letter,
from the rebelliously worded
trendsetter
goes to someone
I cannot name.
You won't find a header,
but I wrote this letter,
and I tucked under my bedsheets.
I sleep on the paragraphs,
and I am sure they wake me
just to contemplate sending it again.
I think how romance is gone,
and what kind of fools
still write to men who
might see you as insane?
Perhaps a little profane....

Denouement will likely discourage
the crisp harbinger,
or will the latent deluge of a word spill
be crinkled inside of a desk
silver with dust.
An empty pen of your lust.
Read on occasion
when they begin to feel
tortured by the meaningless
shuffle of life again.

The Letter has a life of it's own.
I meant to tell him he was not alone,
but it ended up being
an alphabetical listing
of wordings I couldn't find a perfect meaning to.

Dear reader
of this open letter,
Nostalgia is alive and well.
This one is for you.