The Right Words Poem by Paul Gottselig

This poem is dedicated to Chevelle Behar. You always helped me find the Right Words to say. Even if I put it off as long as I could. Thank you.

I sit alone in the dark corners of an unlit room in an unknown place.
And as I sit, I wait. I wait for the right words to come to mind.
Waiting. Waiting. Nothing.
Yet still I'm writing. But writing what?
Words that trail endlessly on and on, always coming and always going.
But going where? Nowhere.
They flow like the silent unseen rivers of the mind.
They flow to a place where all things end.
And it is here that they lie dormant.
A restless calm of unspoken thoughts and unthought of words.
This where I look, and this is where I find it.
But what do I find? Nothing.
The very same nothing that is everything and anything.
Endless possibilities that spew forward from a
seemingly impossible mind.
They have no reason for being, they have no purpose.
But to have no purpose, is to have no meaning,
and meaning they certainly have.
Although it may be unknown, it is still there.
Each word different, each thought unique.
They come to fast and leave to slow.
If they leave at all, which they never do.
So why do they stay? Why do they wait?
They wait for me while I wait for them.
But I know not why I wait.
They are always here and always will be.
Always coming and always going.
But waiting. Waiting.
And now I realize that as I sat, I waited.
And as I waited, I wrote.
What I wrote and what I write is written here.
You see words, I see thoughts.
And do you know why?
Because only real minds, real words, and real thoughts
can see the truth.
And the truth is, I see everything, and you see nothing.
Nothing. Nothing.