Unheard

A life that’s lived by few,
They know it’s nothing new,
Where actions of spoken word,
Are spoken but rarely heard.

I am on of those never heard,
And I find it absolutely absurd,
For I talk with knowledge post-haste,
Though they talk as if I’m laying waste.

Even when my words are sincere,
Or even the words they need to hear,
I am forgotten quickly hastened,
Though I’m always the one who listened.

For I care and I trust, ever so,
Even if I’m the first to go,
For all I want is love and trust,
Instead, I am shunned for others lust.

Yet I cannot anger, I cannot weep,
For I try to pleasure those who are unique,
I wish for all to smile, all to glee,
Instead of hastening in their flee.

But what can I do, what can I say,
I’m never listened to anyway,
Even with knowledge of wisest men,
They would still shutter me when they can.

Still I cannot blame them, even now,
Even though I don’t really know how,
I guess my plea for everyone’s love,
Made me accept all, like form above,

One day, my words might be heard,
Listened or heard, for my actual word,
But that day has yet to come,
And my sorrow has yet to be undone.

So I say to stop and listen,
For what purpose is to be hastened,
Let the man with few words say,
For that would surely make his day.

Who would know, just let them speak,
They might hold more wisdom then their meek,
They might make smiles, or even realizations,
So let them speak, let them post hasten.