Words That Bleed Nothing

Figurative language means nothing anymore
People don't care
People don't enjoy it.
They call my poetry 'ranting'.

That's what they say.
That's what they think of
My out pour of life, love and sadness
My pain and my guilt
My frustrations and my pride
My joy and my lust,
To them, are all rantings.

Every little pain, struggle and anguish
Turned to blood, sweat, tears and courage
Painted on a canvas of fear
With a paintbrush of hopelessness all displayed for the world
To see and feel and give hope back
Yet.. they are spoken of as 'rantings'
They are nothing more than 'rantings'

If my feelings are rantings than I shall rant on
Until my lungs give out, until my heart caves in,
Until my very soul freezes and shatters under the crushing
Reality that my words mean nothing in the end
My words bleed NOTHING to them!
Because, after all..
They are only 'rantings'.