The pen you left upon the desk,
Untouched, serene, in evenings grey,
Began to lift. I saw you stare,
And brush a stray hair from your face.
It hovers now, above the page,
A vessel for a silent age.
Don’t be afraid. Please stay right there.
I have so little I can share.
You might have felt me, now and then,
A sudden chill within the room,
A settled dust, a flickering light,
A deeper shadow in the gloom.
I am a whisper, void of sound,
On this familiar, hallowed ground.
A watcher, bound to stay and see,
The world go on without me.
I’ve learned the contours of your smile,
The way you hum a half-known tune,
The book you read, propped on your knees,
Beneath the patient afternoon.
And in this quiet, lonely state,
I’ve learned to love, and learned to wait,
For just one chance to breach the veil,
To tell my solitary tale.
I cannot touch your gentle hand,
Or brush a tear from your soft cheek.
My form is mist, my voice is wind,
Too thin, too sorrowful, too weak.
But this small pen, it has a weight,
A means to challenge my strange fate.
And with a force you cannot see,
I’ll make my soul into poetry.
This ink is now the blood I lack,
These curves and lines, the words I hold.
My only touch, this spidery track,
A story that could not be told.
Each letter is a silent plea,
For you to simply think of me.
Not as a fright, or cause for dread,
But just a soul whose heart’s unsaid.
So, when this message is complete,
And the pen falls with a soft clink,
Read it and know that you are loved,
In ways you cannot start to think.
My spectral hand will disappear,
But know, my dear, that I am here.
An unseen guardian, ever true,
Writing his silent love for you.
PB
Curiosity powers this blog, but coffee powers the blogger. Enjoy the content? Consider buying a cup to help fuel the next deep dive. Your support makes all the difference! https://beyondtheblog.org/power-the-next-post/
Leave a Reply