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.