How can words, for a poet, (Or so I say) Be so useless? So Faltering? So _bland_? How can you fit so much (I've always loved you I will always love you I would have flown to the stars And given them to you I would have given my life for yours And smiled in ecstasy with my final breath I've cried enough over you to make an Ethiopian Ocean) into a simple "Hello, I'm alright," and a smile? I feel, even were I ever able (If I ever I become or became that complete) To write a poem to make the clouds weep, I would still stumble, sputter, and fall Trying to write the first word To describe, explain, offer My feelings to you. I would, instead, Have to pull out my heart- Writer's block be damned- And offer it to you, A novel of dedication complete in itself, To burn unwanted on your cold stone, Unnoticed on an altar of your own design.