you lived on through the words ,
and I through the music ,
both existing on pages ,
never quite in sync ,
your sigh could turn a few pages , graceful and light ,
mine could sink a ship somewhere off the Pacific ,
my words looked out of place on the pages ,
yours curved with that sense of heaven ,
my book lies open , unused , upon a desk somewhere ,
while you furiously scribble in yours .
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
you lived on through the words ,
and I through the music ,
both existing on pages ,
never quite in sync ,
your sigh could turn a few pages , graceful and light ,
mine could sink a ship somewhere off the Pacific ,
my words looked out of place on the pages ,
yours curved with that sense of heaven ,
my book lies open , unused , upon a desk somewhere ,
while you furiously scribble in yours .