Dark Nights at Noon A Collection of Poetry

Writing

I wrote myself a widow. Someone to miss me when I was gone.

Poured all that I have ever known of love onto paper and called it my home.

My heart was etched out in front of me.

Open chested I stood before a mirror and gazed upon myself.

Saw holes where desire and hope once lived.

Opened my wrist an inkwell and filled my fingertip pens.

I twisted my soul into words and pressed them to fallen trees.

Called it a mate, the only love I ever knew.

Each metaphor once my companion.

Now slowly warped into epitaph and eulogy.

A tearful goodbye to a long since lost love.

Sing me soft hymns as i sink six feet deep.

Only words left to say farewell to the empty shell.

All his words left to tell, now gone to their final hell