Without you, a bard without a voice, I yet sing
like a red brick without a wall, alone in the wind
a grimy watch with no hands, whirring away silently
an old rusty gramophone without a record
making creaking noises, as it spins air gallantly
a torn telephone cable that carries no words
or a creaky metal cage, long dead the birds
a whisper that reaches no ear, merely a sigh
a long winded speech that has all and sundry asleep
I feel inept, insignificant, incomplete
till you are here, and all is well, so it would seem.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Without you, a bard without a voice, I yet sing
like a red brick without a wall, alone in the wind
a grimy watch with no hands, whirring away silently
an old rusty gramophone without a record
making creaking noises, as it spins air gallantly
a torn telephone cable that carries no words
or a creaky metal cage, long dead the birds
a whisper that reaches no ear, merely a sigh
a long winded speech that has all and sundry asleep
I feel inept, insignificant, incomplete
till you are here, and all is well, so it would seem.
I don't know why.
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