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)
It’s just you here. They’re all gone. You’re talking to yourself like usual. Trying desperately to fill that ravenous need to talk to someone, to have someone to listen to. You’ve been walking in a circle, talking in a circle. The conversation can’t change. It’s only you here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s only you.
you, and me, we are, unified souls, simply, united, an unbreakable set, underway, sailing, like ship and sea, this two-way street, you, and me, we are, us. [one].