So true, the pen is mightier than the sword, does the written word, need to be heard
to overcome a wounded heart, plunged through with the cold steel of a broken dream?
Is unseen verse, clumsy verb, the alliteration of broken-hearted desperation, enough to give healing explanation of what it feels like to be left,
speechless, falling, bereft,
cut to pieces, burnt to cinders, short of breath,
If left unread?
Although still said, it echoes unheard through that space once filled by the object of my desire,
The goddess to my demons,
who as she flew, bestowed upon me such feelings,
the like of which, previously only the stuff of dreams, never procured.
She who gave meaning to the world, soothed the past made sense of now and promised a future,
She was I,
But I, sadly
Cannot kiss myself goodbye,
With these words however,
I must try.