I spend too many nights thinking
Wondering, writing, dreaming
Of someone who doesn't even think of me

I stand on a cliff
Wanting to jump
But looking down
Into the endless hole
So deep
And full of pain
Remembering the memories I made
Along the way
Ending up
To this point
Of wanting to make the dot
On the last sentence of the story.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

She was like
a sunflower
who looked
for the sun
even on a
rainy day