Something There Is. . . .

Somewhere behind all the hurrying,
somewhere behind all the empty words
is something to reach out and cling to,
something large and warm and sheltered,
something large enough to fill the nights
when there are no gentle smiles to share,
when there is no one bursting with love,
and it could all have been a sentence
you didn’t hear quite well enough
or that you stupidly let drift away;
somewhere behind all your hurrying
there is a heart waiting to be touched.