My words fall upon deaf ears
I might be blinded by my love for you
but you are deafened by your love him
I write you poem after poem after poem
and you are his after just a few words

I could tell you in ten words,
what he couldn't in a thousand
and I could write a thousand words for you
in the time he could barely say ten

but you are his, and he is yours
and I just sit here, an observer
You are my muse and perhaps it is for the best...

that I sit here, the lonely wordsmith
until the day I give up and become just another lost soul
wishing things were different

and so here I am, the lonely wordsmith
writing yet another poem you will never care to read