for a day, he left
he went away
he left all that would weigh
on him, and his heart
for some time he was gone
for more than enough to write a song
he questioned coming back
"how long will it be before i leave again?"
how long will his mind be free before busyness begins?
"i'm living life in circles, and i'm getting dizzy..."
but eventually he did‐
and with no missed calls, he left again‐
without reason to stay, he left
he went away
there were no messengers coming his way
no voices calling for his heart
more time had passed, with him being gone
for what, more than more time, can he long?
i question if, he'll come back
but with no missed calls, he didn't
will they ever see him again? -they didn't
"if i go back i'll just end up back here again..."
it was too late, when they knew what, or who, they were missing
they were left waiting, for eventually
it was too late, when they realized, they had already reached the end of the story-
his story
About the Creator
JM
Personally, writing began as a creative outlet, to be a means of processing and venting emotion, but it has become so much more. Something I want not to be just relatable, enjoyable and a good read, but to reach someone who is in need.
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