These silent, heart felt words, here humbly drawn,
On grief-stained paper where no pen should write,
All passion fled, all clarity now gone—
No vision left to lend black ink its sight.
Yet words, like tears, on paper white do fall,
Or fly like crusted leaves before the wind;
Does writing such love’s great despair forestall,
Or seal the writ that brings love to its end?
What crafted verse could ever change your mind?
What poet’s hand might melt a frozen heart?
Can love’s sweet memories in these lines entwined
Entreat forgiveness and fresh hope impart?
If words may move your heart, grant me reprieve—
Or damn me quite, where so I ever grieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.