Words Wander

Words seem to wander then wonder
at the sight before them and try
to describe light clouds in the sky
with blood red drops from a silver pen.
A quill pierces my heart and draws
a flood draws my feelings and what I try
to think. What do you do when you
run out of ink? What do you do
when the wolves howl outside the door
when ravens scratch curses on the
nightside of your windows when the last
bus out of town is nothing but fading
tail lights and dissipating exhaust?
Do you cry do you scream do you run?
Or do you stand... do you stand and stay
standing no matter what comes against you?
I can see you standing there in the high
light green grass with drops of dew
in your eyes, as still as the words we
have never spoken...