this is the last poem
that I'll ever write
the very last lines
i'll set into rhyme

giving the thoughts in my head
a much needed rest
with nothing else left
that needs to be said

this is the last poem
i'll pour out on page
any left over words
i'll give them away

maybe somebody else
could use them to say
a few of the things
they've been unable to say

the very last poem
to come from this hand
with all that's been said
no need to say it again

i've weaved tapestries
from beginning to end
now feel the need
to set myself free
and set down this pen

I want to communicate something
but all I have is this
emptiness
where there should be emotion, I
wish for so many things
and yet can't find
the devotion.

Why am I so scared of my empathy?

whispers wrapped with good intentions
are delivered so easily. the silver specs
of the paper to distract what’s underneath.

I will take your words cause they’re all
you will ever give. but I have to move on
from your grasp to learn how to live.

Under the high tide
Of raindrops
And dewdrops
In the darkness
Of the forest
A twig
To the light
Is crying