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Schmaltz
Nostalgia, he knocked today
Digging deep, he finds a way
The song we sang, it found the wind
Reminded me how long it's been
Our fire slowly turned to ash
A perfect storm that couldn't last
And all the ink drained from my pen
A poem without proper end
I know you miss the scars I made
You cried when they began to fade
You sing our song still, to the wind
And hope it brings me back again
That's really nice to read.
That's really nice to read. It hardly sounds exaggerated compared to a lot of poems on here. I like this a lot!
Your choice of words makes it sound more like it was nature taking its course...as it is with all relationships that just don't last for whatever reason... water under the bridge, a season changed, ...so new beginnings can be born.
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "