The Poet

I send these lines to no return,
No address, no reply,
Just fold them into empty space
And let them learn to fly.
If this should reach your waiting hands
On some forgotten night,
Read slowly, there are parts of me
That vanish in the light.
Do not look for who I am,
Or where this letter's from
I am the silence in between
The words that come undone,
No one you know,
Yet someone who wrote
Because he couldn't not.
I am the poet
The whole world forgot.