Monday, April 1, 2013

The Letter (poem)

Here I am at one in the morning
I know that I should be sleeping
Yet, here I sit at this table
Not sure if I am able

Staring down at blank paper
Hands struggle to write a letter
Knowing it'll never find you
Knowing very well the truth

If you had cared at all
By now you would call
Wipe a tear from my eye
As thoughts swirl my mind

Here I sit at one in the morning
I know that I should be sleeping
Yet, here I am getting high
On that darn look in your eyes

Scribbling words down on paper
My fingers moving much smoother
Foolishly I keep on believing
That out there you think of me





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