As I ponder the idea of writing and how I begin
I return to the past, where my pen was used the most
The words speak from there, telling me one thing
I write the best when I am loved
My favourite pieces do not contain l'amore
In fact, once I fell in love, I ceased love-focus
I wrote my soul, what I felt within was more
More than just the love I felt from him
I loved the boy, I loved to write
I loved to tell him of a new work of poetic art
He would not understand my words
But he read and appreciated anyway
Now I no longer have the love
Without it, I can't seem to write what's in my heart
Empty, just like the ink barrel of my pen
Just like the frame he left behind
I waited a lifetime for him to arrive
A lifetime to gain poetic bliss
I'm now lifeless; no love, no pen
I'm lost...
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