Untitled #2
What am I without poetry,
Without words,
blossoming on the page?
I would be but a shell of myself
And you would find me
sitting at a desk
at midnight,
in the dark,
crying over words left unwritten.
What am I without you?
I would be a song left unsung,
a book left unread,
collecting dust on the shelf.
What would I be,
if the things I held close were taken away?
I would be nothing, my love, nothing at all–
I would be a whisper,
a breath,
a note sung by an abhorred songbird.
I would drift along in the breeze,
like the many restless souls carried along.
For now, though,
While I still have you,
I hope to forever cherish you and the memories we’ve made.
