you were a brilliant composer.
you piece syllables
together into symphonies.
your words are
carefully crafted into a masterpiece.
in my every waking
i am greeted with new songs
that escape from
your lips
like sun rays at the break of dawn.
i can listen to you sing unceasingly.
but
the time of the
days, months, years that passed
became the length of the
distance between us,
and your songs got
softer and
softer,
eventually fading
into silence.
it turns out that was just an intermission.
you came back and
your songs start playing again
but
now i can't dance to your rhythm;
i can't harmonize to your melodies.
you were a brilliant composer
but now
i can't find
what your words mean to me.
my poetry nowadays sound so "synthetic". i don't know, i just can't seem to write like how i used to.