Posted in Poems

Each heartbeat, write!


A blank page waiting.
For me to ink the words.
Yet, nothing happens.
No words pour out.

When writing fails,
I read my poems.
And I fuss over them.
And wonder their purpose.

Will it touch another’s heart?
To lift a weary soul.
Will it bring on a sigh?
To hold, to inspire.

Your opinion I used to seek.
Every now and then.
Waiting for your praise.
I had to ask, always.

I wait for your comment.
But, I’ve stopped asking you.
An emptiness for this poem.
For you may not read it.

Your silence, a sharp blow.
Failure leaping off the page.
As I write my heart on paper.
This rush of feeling less.

Each heartbeat, write!
So there are no regrets.
For when I am gone,
I’ll not leave a blank page.

By C.E. Pereira