The song is ever playing, ever sung,
its lyrics at the tip of every tongue,
yet never do we know quite what we say,
nor ever do we see what’s in our way.
We circle round in esoteric prose,
yet never do we perfectly impose
upon a page the hints we barely grasp.
Our voice, no better than a dying rasp,
in desperate pains express what can’t be said
in hope that, somewhere where it’s read,
for all our pains the meager truth is found
and in the hearts of readers will abound.
Short Poem: Hope of Truth
Tale Told 
You have expressed the familiar anguish of all writers and poets in this beautiful, succinct masterpiece! The exquisite verse “Our voice, no better than a dying rasp,” captures the universal conundrum of creative individuals.
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Thank you.
It’s still a joy, I think, to reach for that unreachable truth.
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Yes, it definitely is among the most joyful experiences for a creative individual!
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