I miss––for still I miss. My lips are stone, and cannot kiss. My year was long; What is this "bliss"? What is love? I can no longer reminisce.
I miss––for still I miss. Heart is empty; no roar, no hiss. A year, and you're still gone, And poems are written into dawn. Thoughts are dark like an abyss.
Finally an actual poem... as the months pass by, it only gets worse.