Stuck

What have I left to offer? Nothing much –
I've lost most things I own along the way
And what remains is of no earthly use

To anyone. There's still the cold of night,
Time's unrelenting passing and the wild,
Dry winds that freeze my back, the driving rains,

The snows that teach my hair to join their ranks...
I've shelved most words. I cannot gauge what may
Result from voicing them and my old songs

Turned dust before their time. Inside my mind
They sigh like sand around a nomad's tent
In some sad desert. Yet I still have dreams

In which you're first and foremost. If you knew,
If you but knew. But that's a hope forlorn –
I can't explain to eyes that blaze with scorn.