If all my verses were complete—
      if never another poem dripped from this electronic pen
      if every drop of creativity were exhausted and
            my mind were drained of everything it had to offer
And no one read a word
And no one missed what they had not heard
Would it matter still?

I scribble for millions
I scribble for one
I scribble for three-in-one
What is my poetic destination?

If all my music came undone—
      if never another note flowed on this artificial page
      if every ounce of genius were drained away and
            my heart were wrung dry of all it had to offer
And no one ever heard
And no one missed what they had not learned
Would it matter still?

I echo for millions
I echo for one
I echo for three-in-one
Why this my musical inclination?

If all my life’s deeds faded to an end—
      if never another word poured from these effusive lips
      if every breath had fled my lungs at last and
            my soul were dried of all it had to offer
And no one ever tear’d
And no one missed him they had not neared
Would I matter still?

I live for millions
I live for one
I live for three-in-one
Where is my eternal destination?

1 comment:

  1. Wow. This is just beautiful--so thoughtful, and impeccably constructed. I was fascinated by the way the stanzas lined up. The last section is something I've asked before, as you well know, so this really resonates with me.


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