The Departed

The room is all cleaned up,

But now am bored again, nothing to take up my time,

Except for the memory of you

All I try fails, and with it breaks my heart

I used to put pen on paper; but that was a long time ago

Even that has come to be my nightmare.

I can’t stand the thought of you not being here

The papers look at me with longing

Eager for the ink in my pen to fill their blankness

And it haunts me

But I cannot and will not, write pieces that I know not the destiny of.

Maybe you will never set eyes on them,

Or worse, if you do you will not understand them as you once did.

This dawns on me every time I pick up my pen-

My hands go frail with the dread of the unknown

I don’t know

I don’t want to know;

The reality may break me down

And you won’t be there to pick me up

The dreams and hopes that we shared are no longer

The promise you made of your eternal presence was a fallacy

The lapse of time may have dried from your face the wetness of youth

When words spoken carried meaning

When promises were more than whispers in the air

And our hearts believed in what our lips beckoned

You may now be another,

One that I know not.

Life may have filled your mind with brutal truths

Ones to make you forget the simplicity we once exuded.

I don’t wish to think about it, but I do.

Hence I will not write to you.

Least not till I believe again

With every stroke of ink on this paper

My hopes fade and I am left with loss

I have lost

The only thing that once made some sense in my life

The only thing that gave me a reason to be