Empty Chairs

This is supposed to be my field of dreams,

brown grass filled with empty chairs?

I pour words through the funnel of my soul

praying someone will hear me;

will understand my poet’s spirit exhaling poetry.

My words go unopened, unread,

a black alphabet speaking in muted voice.

Hopelessness taunts from the shadows,

but I won’t succumb.

I cling to my drowning dream.

Surely someone will come sit among my poems,

feel the words that my muse has birthed from me.

The universe is too vast for my verses

to not break through the silence.

©Susie Clevenger 2011

 Prompt: Magpie Tales 91

Magpie Tales