You Did What You Had to Do

You have put it out there, done the best you know how. And it is good. You do know that. But no one has noticed. So you pour more of yourself into the song that you are sure is the one you are supposed to sing. Nothing. Silence. You dig deeper, pull up from your guts that last nugget of what might possibly sustain you if you don't get some help. You polish it, unwrap it from the silk you have woven from your dreams, before sending it out into the ocean where it might be lost and forgotten. You see it there,, afloat in the oblivion of emptiness, with no hope of finding home. So, it didn't work out, but you did what you had to do. Small comfort that, to your ego anyway. You see that it goes that way sometimes. Yours was the path of the scribe, the one who remained obscure, the one no one will remember when you are gone. Tough luck, that, you think as you turn the page, limit the losses.

The book that never took off...