where 
were all the words
when needed?
waiting 
in this pen?
to emerge
after the matter
to
sway some beautiful
sentiment,
so fashionably late,
the comedy of 
it
demented divine?
all
that ill-intended
symbolism,
set in schism with
reality,
those actualities
that leave hiding
impossible.

where 
were the words?
residing
in the pages of
some 
misunderstood monster?
some dreamt up
perspective?
existing now, only
to set sweeter
my
delusions,
the attempted intrusive
ideas, 
of a life lost
so long
ago.

where were the words?
here now,
all dollar short, and
such.