My Audience

You are my poetry.
I listen... what do those thoughts inspire?
I know not anymore what they mean---
Only what you say about them.

Do not come to me, and ask,
"Does your poem mean, thus..."
I do not know.
I want to hear your words
And interpret them like I do Eliot or Wordsworth.

I want to listen.
Do you not understand?
I wrote so much to listen to you
Tell me what they mean.
I know what I meant by them...
What do you see by them?

I can listen, and understand you.
You listen, and understand me.
I wish to listen to you...
Just tell me your honest thoughts.

Know only one thing about me.
I believe in Christ.
But, tell me what you see in my poems
And reveal to me mysteries I had not even fathomed.
Reveal to me the hidden parcels of wisdom
I did not see, nor conceive.
Show me what they mean---
For do you not understand,
Words have meaning?
I say this over and over again---
Thoughts have meaning.
Precise meanings.
Do not shy away from telling me your thoughts.
I will think over them,
Mull over them...
For that is what I want.
I want you to think
And speak important words.
Not sit idly and talk about nonsense.
Talk about something deep,
And if poetry draws that out of you,
I wish to listen and see the chrysalis of your thoughts.

See, those reading my poems,
You are my poetry.
To have never had an audience
To listen to,
To never hear you tell me what they mean---
I am tired of my own thoughts...
Do not make me blue.

I wish to place wisdom
Onto your lips, and make it rain forth.