No One Listening

The glum will surely fade
and I, I can taste the grape exalted
to its supreme perfection
dry and with a hint of oak.

I want to dance
though my feet have no special steps
I want to shout though I have nothing distinguished to say
but only a desire to be heard.

And you, like so many others look at me and wonder.
It is the water passing swiftly in the narrow stream that
travels so far with so little,

And I look inward and see in myself a raindrop that wishes
beyond all hope to travel half as far in my quest. Sometimes
the desire is far greater than purpose. Then I too wonder
is there something missing? Is that why no one is listening?

I build a fire out of doubts and questions and douse it with
the enthusiasm that seems misplaced. I have no need for it.
At least I will be warm.