Poetry on a rainy Sunday evening

Grasping at reality with a fingertip hold
But I need to let go now
It's time for the dreams, to all take their toll
yet I have only nightmares
I can see there's a light, behind all the pain
if I can only get to it
Calling me down, where fear is unchained
No hero to save me
Feverishly directing, flashing color and sound
There is no relenting
I know as I heal, with a faith that holds strong
My life is a masterpiece

Swirling above me, in the dark of my mind, are my voided screams
Beckon for help, no voice to call out, even I can not hear them
Dreams for a future, that will never come, if I don't make them heard
But you were too busy, to listen to words, not spoken, about you
Eager for ears, when you need them most, but you had none to offer
So I turned around, then I muted them all, before I myself deafened
Now that your gone, I'm found all alone, I can hear the soft whispers
They grow louder each day, in wait for the time, each one is echoed

Yes, your touch is powerful, and it could own me

But I won't let on so easily, so don't expect that
Yes, there I go again, grasping ecstasy
But now I'll turn the tables, to bring you there
Yes, my touch is powerful, and now I own you

Hear me
But don't listen to my screams
Hear only the things that no one else does
In the sighs that you bring
In the cries in the night
Those are the things I've chosen for you

Hear the way that I feel
By the power of my touch
Hear the love that I nurture
When I listen in return
Hear me speaking with no words
And Listening with no prejudice