Aren't words just metaphors for the way we feel?

XXI

I'm way down here, friend. And I'm safe, and fine for now. 

I'll make it out someday, eventually, somehow. 

I'm down here with the wailers who melt into the walls

Their tales of woe do comfort me when I'm tired of it all. 

I'm down here with the pure but penniless poets of the past

With the drowning sailors whose worldly legacies seldom last

I'm down here with the still-breathing corpses and the refuse that is thrown

From warm and comfortable homes, into hostile streets, unknown. 

And when I've overstayed my welcome, and I need them no more-

I may depart as noiselessly as I arrived

By the shore.