I was typing on my computer
And I was writing a poem
And I felt each tear
Brush against my lips
As my heart quivered

I had only written
A few lines...

I never thought
That writing about you
Could make me feel this way
After that poem
Every other one seemed gray
I'm sorry
But I had to change...

I stopped writing like that
Took time to feel
What began it all
It was these feelings
Which came after fall

I had to let go
Tears ran down this wall
And back into my hands
So many emotions
From one grain of sand

Standing on the beach
The ocean was hiding
All of those feelings
Which never stopped shining

That is the day
I finally stopped crying
That is the gray
I finally stopped rhyming

Only the good die young
The horror the horror
So, that might not be true
Evil seems to die young too

'Tis the fault of Voltaire
I heard a child sing
As he ran into a flurry of ash whitened like snow
'Tis the fault of… (I don't know)

But, most die less heroically
And the most tragic of all
Me and you, who I hold so dear,
(Twenty lines are missing here)

And to think of dying once
Clutched in the arms of my dear friend
His eyes screaming sheer defiance
*The rest is silence

I waited for you
I watched out these windows

While it was raining
I pressed my hand against the ice cold glass
And drank

My tears ran down my cheeks
And back into my mouth

I miss you

Numbers are placed in blocks
Jump rope
And hopscotch

One
Two
Skip a few
Ice skating and sledding
In the winter

Back to spring
We're so full of life
And happy inside

Seasons come
Memories fade
But there's something gloomy
And something gray

This year I don't feel like
I want to play