I know you cant hear me,

it's just therapy for myself,

unwritten words on blank pages,

dusty books upon the shelf.

I know that you can't see me,

eyes loiter beyond the veil,

a memory is like a photograph,

your face has now turned pale.

I can no longer hold you,

the warm touch begins to freeze,

icy fingers grasping in the air,

makes dust float on the breeze.

Reflected hope just wrinkles,

as the lines upon your face turn down,

the lines in the pond aren't wavelets,

in the mirror they reflect a frown.

A broken heart can kill you,

it's the stress that rips asunder,

pining for a matching soul,

turns joy to grief to wonder.

Life becomes a monotony,

minds eye unable to conceive,

really hard to focus your vision,

or understand what you believe.

Trapped inside my universe,

within the boundaries of this space,

empty horizons surround me,

while my thoughts are all displaced.

Consciousness is the key to life,

while your dreams keep you asleep,

nothing prepares you for tomorrow,

except the memories that you keep.

So I'll not sing you a lullaby,

or even try to make you smile,

it's not the promise of simplicity,

yet all you have is for a while.

The page seems full of substance,

while the pen begins to linger,

to form an image straight from my mind,

with the ink now upon my finger.