Wasted Efforts

It was only after

the many cigarettes 

and cups of coffee

I realized the wasted effort

of words

What could we hope

for in some silly 

symbolic representation

of ideas

and feelings

and the endless beauty

of this early summer evening

when the crickets scream

for company 

and the moon begs for 

clarity.

I realized the clunky

nature of sentence structures

and how fruitless

syllables are at

encompassing the best 

parts of the two of us

What frail grammar could hope

to do justice to a daughter's

smile or the way

your hand feels on my arm

as we drive with the windows 

rolled all the way down

the wind a music that 

becomes too loud for 

speaking. 

How could words explain 

this life I live? It was only

after endless pondering

and circular dances

that I realized it is just the shadow

on Plato's cave

that I slave over

and the reality is too 

bright for the eyes

of vowels and ampersands