Is This In Vain Poem by Joshua Bantum

Dear W.W.


I have etched words upon stone for dead lovers I've never loved,
so why can't I write this,
for your ears turned dust, that will never be coerced?


I believe the grass is but leaves sprouting from the dirt spine of the earth,
mountainous peaks, and gravel rock beds
cradling the river in which we all return.


In that, we both agree,
but I do not understand all this talk about
actions carried out only in vain,
for even when someone fails,
doesn't it produce something else,
somewhere,
succeeding because we've lost...
I hope so,

but if not,
then maybe the words of a dead man,
have once again out-lived those of this living one.