Those Left Unanswered

Blood dripping through the edge of my words,
I wait for the rain of dots to arrive soon
Coma, colons and exclamations call for stops
But the stops are on a highway seeking their monsoon.

I have a tight hold on this blade
For I've bled and recovered
And in this new birth of fate
The only salvation is in being heard.

I come with a million words without thinking
Funny how you ponder in search of meaning.

Poor little devils lament over Barcelona
While the others queue for a drop of elixir
And a few write columns from Tokyo to Passadena
While the rest believe in the silence of eternity.

I come with a million questions at your door
And I find myself answering as you approach the lock.