To Whom Are You Speaking?

As you scribble away down there in the furnace room of your solitude, to whom do you sing? Is it the lovers that got away, that left you weeping and broken on the sidewalk of your twenty-something fear? Well, yes. And no. Of course they sparked the kindling of your desires and you followed that flame to its logical and less than logical conclusions. You drove your little motor cycle into the winds and mountains with visions of those fleshy secrets, hounded by your hormones. So yes, it is they. But, in reality, they are no longer listening, so who is it that does? It is they you have not yet met, the ones who wait in the future you are composing as you lean into your love. So, you don't know them, but if they find your words, sometime out there in the days to come, they will know you for what you held to be true, the words you spoke with the deepest blue, the words born of a running river present in all things, but also the actions you took to deliver that love to a world hungry and tormented. It was the ones you served, the ones you knew only because you turned beauty into an outstretched hand.