Ruins of Renaissance

Nine gleaming ink drops
loom large in the center
of my page.
A million million more dot the periphery.
I turn and turn the page,
looking for a place
to welcome my words,
but there is no space,
I have no words.
I have but a page
flecked with uncountable tears.
Tears of people who are sick and tired
of others
placing their words upon them.
I will honor their tears,
we must let them speak,
and, for a change,
Listen.