I missed your poems and their beautiful eloquence
their smooth touch penetrating the walls of my conscience
I missed how they mutely speak and silently shout
out answers to my puzzles leaving me without a doubt

the numbing vividness of your darkness and light
the harmonic tone that steals every plight
your touching free verse like the owl misses the night
or like the sky in the night misses the pride of the kite

I missed the sumptuous confidence you portray
while questioning why it's the good people that life does betray
the little twists and turns, highs and lows
the scalds and burns, sarcastic arrows and bows

I missed the vocabulary which makes me scratch my brain
the pattering fall of letters dripping down my screen like rain
and the exceptional comic yet saddening stanzas
of structurally constructed pieces like paintings on canvas

I missed the flow of your torments on paper
tear after tear, weaving a mat of fury without losing grip
year after year, serenely reflecting the turbulent vapour
rising out of your heart pen ward pen ward and lip

I missed your pieces like the a refugee misses home
fatigued and desperate in foreign lands while they roam
physically and emotionally shredded,dead at heart
loathing, resentment coming thrown at them like the dart

I missed your art like the sand misses foot prints after waves
like those gone lie lonely forgotten in their graves
like lovers torn apart by destiny miss their kisses
I missed you,and your raw honest pieces