I was a charcoal waiting
and you said here, turn the world into me
every poem I etched on the canvas was a memory of you
like Homer, I recite you
a blind Greek poet singing the Illiad and Odyssey
stories of someone he could never meet
every song is an attempt to imitate your melody
every poem a fallacy
my eyes, where the drought resides
the rain fell when you left
never to peek another sight
is this why you only come by in my daydreams
to remind me we only were
and were never meant to be?
