Dear One

Dragging my pen along the walls of the well, The ink of meaningful words runs dry, Blind to who you've become, and serving only to dampen empty sockets, The misty drops of moments lost become the meaningless tears I cry, And the blink of the eyeless is, likewise, frivolous nictation, For it was yesterday upon them your image permanently seared, And eternity is in the hurt of not knowing what to say, Since my favorite words fell hopelessly on deaf ears, And memories fail to give new sights or sounds, As I look to see you, listening for your story, still, To reign down the tempestuous quench of stillness, And let the well refill.