Apr 2018
Left behind ?
I left these odes in the journal so that their may be something left of my soul when I’m gone , perhaps some remnant of a deepest affection that no one may never know existed without the stream of words that bellowed from deep within my heart , into that ocean of a lifelong love .
Perhaps someday , someone will happen upon this book , heartbeats, captured in moments , etched on parchment , snippets of a story sewn together in the strings of a heart, the ink of a pen , to a woman , an angel , the love of my life , or , lifelong love , a girl I’ve asked forever.
I wonder if someone will find my words , and feel my affinity toward her.
Like the stars line the skies with eternal tales for as long as time has been , will someone see the same in my words , like she never seemed .
With no midnight sky to hold my heart , or no stone to bear the etching of a beating heart flow , without these words bound in my whispers , will I ever have loved her at all.
So I scroll these words into a journal , crimson ink , filtered only through an adoring heart , that’s loved her all my life.
My legacy , laced within the parchment of now faded memories , and hopeless dreams , that once guided my smile.
Without someone to read , will I ever have loved her at all .
I left these odes in the journal so that their may be something left of my soul when I’m gone , perhaps some remnant of a deepest affection that no one may never know existed without the stream of words that bellowed from deep within my heart , into that ocean of a lifelong love .
Perhaps someday , someone will happen upon this book , heartbeats, captured in moments , etched on parchment , snippets of a story sewn together in the strings of a heart, the ink of a pen , to a woman , an angel , the love of my life , or , lifelong love , a girl I’ve asked forever.
I wonder if someone will find my words , and feel my affinity toward her.
Like the stars line the skies with eternal tales for as long as time has been , will someone see the same in my words , like she never seemed .
With no midnight sky to hold my heart , or no stone to bear the etching of a beating heart flow , without these words bound in my whispers , will I ever have loved her at all.
So I scroll these words into a journal , crimson ink , filtered only through an adoring heart , that’s loved her all my life.
My legacy , laced within the parchment of now faded memories , and hopeless dreams , that once guided my smile.
Without someone to read , will I ever have loved her at all .
