Words Never Die

I've never known how to let anything die

I suppose that is how a person becomes a writer

It's not so much a gift as it is a disease

A sickness brought on by grief and rattling keys

It's not so much a poem as it is a prayer

A cry to whoever might be there

Let there be something I can hold that lasts

Let there be love that doesn't leave so fast

Let there be a day when the sun fade

Let there be something, anything, that stays

But the sun never listens

And falls beneathe the trees

And love however infinite

Eventually leaves

And so I am left here

With only paper and ink

To transform this brief

And beautiful blink

Into something that remains

When the light abandons my eyes

Life, it is short

But Words, words never die