No More ...

I want nothing more than to write about you and what you do to me

To scrawl endless flowing rivers of words about you

Oh, how I wish I could write that poem of you and me

But I won't

I can’t

It’s too great a risk, too much pain and hurt in words past

No more will I chance my future pain staring back at me that way

So this poem is not the poem, it is not what my heart longs to say

Voices in my head begin to see the cracks and say ‘I told you so’

Whether those cracks are even there, I’ll never know

In time there may be poems again, the heart may be un-caged

Until there is certainty

No more words, no more spilling of unrequited love and fancy

Just this poem, that isn’t the poem

I wish I could write for you