Not a Lover, Nor an Artist

I wrote about you for the last time today

Because I can no longer take the way

My heart breaks each time I turn my tear-stained pages…

The ink smudges and fades, leaving behind only empty spaces

In places I always thought your name would remain permanently engraved.

The stars fall rapidly out of the sky

To symbolize the way

These pent up emotions, I have of you,

Boil over on my insides, causing tears to rush out of my eyes.

I’ve kept you alive in every line,

Yet lately, when I write,

I find myself crossing out stanzas where I have you in mind.

I remember reading a quote one day that said something like

When a artist loves you, they keep you alive

In every art they make, every word they rhyme,

However, when I pick up the brush to paint,

I find that the colors of you + me

Blur and fade…

Maybe my love for you truly has

Begun to decay.

M.H. John