Poetic Friend
You were
my hero
The wick of my poet flame tongue
became extinquished
and
my mind grew restless
You were like a god
Sooooooooooooooooooo
I placed you on a pedastool
Sometimes
on a cloudy day
You would often dissapear
I would stare at the sky
hoping for a break in the gloomy period
so I could feel
your sunny gaze
I admit it,
We are not
The canvas and the Paint
Not the words that graze the page, compilling together a classic for the age
Not the gloves people wear on a chilly day
Not the violin and the symphony rising higher in harmony
Not early morning laughter nor even pillow talk
more like
oil and water
as seperated as far as we can be
Perhaps
a hero
should stay as such
because after the stage light
often goes out.
A hero is just a man, whose
not without fault
But I miss my friend....
every time I write something new
without a doubt
Copyright © Laura Hew | Year Posted 2009
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