The ink - it cries -it sobs-
penning tears, running on to fingers
spilling the heart onto the page.
This is for the living, not the dead
my penning of tears
my writing of words
a torture of me.
I am creating worlds,
Bringing life out of thought
and nothingness
head form to image.
If only my thought could bring you back.
It is a sad pen I hold today,
missing you
crying ink
kissing the paper
pressing against the pain
spilling the heart onto the page.