With pen to paper your talents stand imposing against the cold white sheets
Ajectives of beauty dance on the page intertwining with elborate illastrations of stature drawn out in ink
At first glance, it is my letters and nouns written out before my eyes:
An enchanting story of which fits word for word.
But your binding is perfect, no crease to be found
and while your novel takes prize place on the shelf:
mine, tattered and worn, takes to the floor.
My words have been used over again,
acted on and cried upon, lived.
Your story is words, fictional words
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
I wait for you, heavy hearted
Harsh, cold raindrops drench my soul.
Hope washed away with falling tears on my cheek
You never came.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 1:19 AM UTC