Grief comes in waves
It ebbs and flows
One minuet you're fine
The next who knows?

My heart's in shackles
Binded in chains
Since the day you left
I've never been the same

It broke my heart to hear you were gone
I miss you
I love you
It's hard to be strong

If I could have just one more day
I'd take your hand then I'd say
I'm sorry I left
I'm sorry there was no goodbye
I'd give you a kiss
I'd try not to cry

I pray you forgive me for not being there
Life may be beautiful
But it sure isn't fair.

We are writers and poets who know how to express
We can define our feelings a lot more or a lot less
Why were we cursed with the ability to feel?
The feelings of life that are so painfully real...

We can make music by writing what we desire
Turning simple paper into a passionate fire
We can sway hearts by symbolizing love and creation
Or break another's by turning words into death and temptation

We are the cursed race of scholars who turn words into weapons
We can draw blood with a phrase in a matter of seconds
We are dedicated authors with emotions so heavy
That one word from us that is read or heard can be deadly

Words are our weapons, our friends and our foes
Even a writer or poet has demons that only we know
Each line is a battle and each piece is a war
We are writers and poets and we will write forevermore

“Fear not,” the winds whispered through the pines
Tenderly stroking my hair as I wandered through the forest.
“Don’t shed a tear,” the rustling poplars sang
Stirring my soul as I wept.

Leaves waltzing, gyrating, floating,
Doing whatever they may please
Soft sunlight filtered through the canopy, putting me at ease.

Cold air filled my lungs, clearing my mind
Sweet therapy at last, finally free.
Free to wander the wilderness, uninterrupted and jovial.
My whole life set before me.