There’re poems upon blank pages
Unwritten, waiting to happen
Messages in spilled ink
Unseen — yet to be deciphered
So I cannot go today
But theres a knot in my throat
and the dew in my eyes won’t dry
There’s a tremble to my nerves
And an ache to my knees
Yet, my soul is tethered to earthen life
So I cannot go today
So up until the wax melts and the final flame dies out
To see where the leaves in Autumn blow south
I cannot go today.
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 4:28 PM UTC
There’re poems upon blank pages
Unwritten, waiting to happen
Messages in spilled ink
Unseen — yet to be deciphered
So I cannot go today
But theres a knot in my throat
and the dew in my eyes won’t dry
There’s a tremble to my nerves
And an ache to my knees
Yet, my soul is tethered to earthen life
So I cannot go today
So up until the wax melts and the final flame dies out
To see where the leaves in Autumn blow south
I cannot go today.
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