confusion

it's so easy to be
misunderstood these days,
through the written
word or in conversation,
the wink is taken as
a slight, the poem as
a rebuke, silence is
a quiet roar of disapproval,
that voice mail or email
is twisted into something
that it was never
meant to say. it seems
as if the world is on
thin ice, on edge and
so easily upset over
virtually nothing. our
egos have run aground,
thinking that each wave
that crashes upon them is
on purpose, and not just
nature taking it's course.
i'd like to think that
it's raining, not because
of me, or snowing, or hailing
or that lightning is
spitting across the black sky
not because of something
said or unsaid.