words
I linger here
more often than not
in this place,
void of light,
where all things
are shades
of grey.
I am compelled
to return
to these blank pages
and write.
I would let these pages
keep their luster,
but my mind
will not clear
till all randomness
has given way
to order.
Words come to me,
as they do
to all truly great men.
Though mine sink
from their own weight
and lay abandoned.
Weep now for poets,
for all they know
are words.
time
Do not ask of me
what I cannot give
and all the rest
will be yours.
Speak not
of the future,
for it is always
unknown.
and God
will not give us
the foretelling.
Be here
with me now
and let time pass
only between
we two.
For time is
the great destroyer,
and master healer.
So we will check
every morning,
and if the sun rises,
the day will be ours.
