Retired Writer
I used to write the perfect piece
that speaks volume than my lips;
its impact would bury deep within
the soul of one who dares to read
I used to write the perfect song
that sounds better than my voice
it would creep down to your core
and disturb your sleeping soul
I used to write the perfect piece
not until you came like a wave
taking every drop of this pen's ink
so I could no longer write the same
So how do I write the way my heart used to
when the fuel I need was now taken by you?