Here I am standing alone under a curtain of rain.
(water dripping down my fingers;
they ask me, and I want to linger.)

Here I am shouting into the wind.
(snatches away my voice
as easily at it took our brothers' choice.)

Here I am preaching to a crowd of faithless and singing to a crowd of the deaf.
(what does it matter that they cannot hear?
my words are for more than a swollen ear)

Here I am chasing the dreams of the ones who have never slept.
(and their wide red eyes are leaking tears;
here we are, trapped by ashy fears)

Here I am, listening to the desperate voice of a dying bird—
(The words of a sermon that no one listens to;
the tune of a song that no one had heard.)