By Her

The words keep coming,
I don't even know which world to live in.
I keep on writing,
I don't even remember how I fell for it.

Time becomes a second,
then an hour, then some hours,
and then a whole day.

The pen becomes my lover,
then ours - when you claim to be writers,
and then by her we choose to stay.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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