Poetry

Who will I be when I got nothing left?

It’s just me and my pen
The only love I know
Let me write,
Whose name do I put on my paper?
Give me a bleeding heart
One who dares to be my muse,
I wanna write words that won’t end in tears,
I call for a bleeding heart
But none I find
Now watch me beat up my face
While trying to fight for a love poem,
How long should I try to make it rhyme?
Everyone around me is running
A marathon red and rosy,
They are adorn in sweat
They all call it love
I try to write about what I see,
But the words won’t come
How do I write about something that is not mine?
Where will I get the words when they are not around?
Suddenly I think about a place I know
I dig deep in my heart
Deep where the darkness can’t reach
Yes
Though I be broken,
There is a secret place in my heart
A palace where pain won’t rule
There you will find the little bit of love I have
Should I let it go?
Hold my pen,
Craft my words,
And let it flow?
Maybe it’s time
But
What if it’s the last I have left?
How do I know for sure?
What if I put it on my paper and it never comes back?
Who will I be when I got nothing left?
Let me just listen to my instinct
The friend with whom I won’t go astray
I now keep my love to myself
Maybe one day I will be ready to let it flow
But now I am at a place where my love never comes back
My fears won’t let me let it go
I just keep it to myself

Sharon Mo ©

This poem was inspired by a conversation I had with Lost Soul about an hour ago.

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11 thoughts on “Who will I be when I got nothing left?”

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