Didn't realize she was missing,
Hadn't noticed she was gone,
'till I looked down at my hands and realized how long
It had been,
Since I picked up a pen.
Her whispers, like secrets,
Always finding my ears,
Her light in my eyes,
Her soul in my tears.
Now dashed away, silent,
Mind as blank as the page,
Afraid this is the end,
Last call,
Leave the stage.
No. I refuse.
As long as I speak,
I will find words to use.
I will be my muse.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
Didn't realize she was missing,
Hadn't noticed she was gone,
'till I looked down at my hands and realized how long
It had been,
Since I picked up a pen.
Her whispers, like secrets,
Always finding my ears,
Her light in my eyes,
Her soul in my tears.
Now dashed away, silent,
Mind as blank as the page,
Afraid this is the end,
Last call,
Leave the stage.
No. I refuse.
As long as I speak,
I will find words to use.
I will be my muse.
And just like that, this is the first poem I've written in two years.
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