I can close my eyes now and I no longer have to wonder about the age-long sentiment of that old Beatles song… I no longer have to think about why you say goodbye and I say hello. Why you’re always leaving as soon as you come home or why do you even bother to try to stay when you can’t stay long. So many questions unanswered that no longer matters. Yet… As the dawn breaks outside this new house’s windows, of all the things forgotten, only one remains and that is you were, are and will always be a poem this heart spits up in the crack of dawn.
I haven’t written a line of poetry for months, Not since I found the man I married. I might have written him a poem On a tissue paper from a local cafe… But that too was long ago. Since then, this heart and this pen, Are no longer bursting with pain. I am free of all burdens No trace of heartaches remain. But like all sad alcoholics in the world, I am (some sort of) a poet. Inspired by failed romances, Entranced by missed chances… So where do I begin to write again? How could I write about a love That is pure, unending? When all I knew Was to…