I write this poem with handled care
Sitting in the darkness of my lair
I type and type ideas on the page
One about a heart trapped in a cage
One about a girl falling in love
One about the true symbolism of a dove
click clack, click clack
The sound fills my ears
The words I've written bringing me to tears
I sit and ponder what is good and what is bad
I write my poems wondering if it’s just a fad
I think of him and what he’d do
He’d probably scream and throw his shoe
He’d yell that he’s not good then laugh at it
He’d come over to me and sit
We’d talk and write about our dreams
But that could never become true as it seems
Writing, writing in my room
A story emerges from the gloom
Here I sit and here I stay
Until I write another day