FUTILE

My words have become nothing more
than an exercise in abject futility,
a burden of unreceived echoes
that search frantically for validity
but return with a harrowing emptiness
that mocks the essence of my existence.

The cold abstract silence has become

a disconcerting deafness
that rings with resounding persistence
and renders my valiant efforts
to be useless and unabsorbed by anyone
other than the agitated enigma of myself.

Jon

in a frustrated poetic mode