I woke up every morning because he watched me sleep
His hand gently brushed the hair from my cheek
The look in his eyes speak of years of joy and pain
I wait for him to say it but he never lays the blame
But the sorrow in his smile says his love has died
He just hasn't figured out, how to say goodbye
Why don't he just slam the doors
Pack a suitcase, even scores
His silence echoes down the halls
Traps me in these loveless walls
Of what has been for years our love and home
Now became an empty hell filled with Edgar Allan's poems
Dear Diary, I recall my fear every night on a page
One page for every day, a day that he still stays
Always scared to share my thoughts, his work is always fine
I battle with the words to write, find a way to make us rhyme
But the sadness in his walk tells me his love has died
He just has to find a way, to tell me it's goodbye
I pray, Dear Lord that he will find
Something that just might remind
Him of our passion and the gentle touch
That tells him how much he is loved
Oh, why don't he just slam the doors
Pack a suitcase, even scores
His silence echoes down the halls
Traps me in these loveless walls
Of what has been for years our love and home
Now became an empty hell filled with Edgar Allan's poems
But the sadness in his eyes tells me his love has died
He just has to find a way, to tell me it's goodbye.
YOU ARE READING
Dandelions In The Wind
PoetryThere are a lot of reasons why people write. For me it has always been like an addiction, a reporting on the world and therapy. People are my greatest inspiration and God created so many variants and flavours that we would always have something to...
