It was not the grief on your face
That worried me,
It was the lack of inspiration,
Coming from this desperate situation.
For how could I offer any comfort
If I could not convert
Your all consuming pain,
Into a poem.
Like a photographer in a war zone
I try to capture the moment,
Using the most shocking of sights
just to fullfil those often lonely nights.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/selfish-acts-of-an-emotionally-crippled-poet/
