Bruised arms, tired eyes,
Dried tears, grey skies,
She lies on the grass next to him,
Wonders why he’s so grim.
Goes back to the time,
He first made her rhyme.
Their eyes had met in passing,
And suddenly her heart was racing,
Beating against her ribcage,
Finding freedom in bondage.
She went home that day with an urge to write,
And rhymed furiously through the night,
And every day after that, he gave her inspiration,
To write out her heart’s infinite elation.
And when they eventually began to talk,
She figured out how to tackle writer’s block.
But the night of their first kiss,
She had to give writing a miss,
For she could think of nothing,
But the sound of his breathing.
Over the years, they grew apart.
And she wrote to mend her broken heart.
As time passed, she wrote of more
Than just his eyes or the clothes he wore.
She wrote of her pain and her happiness alike,
And the importance of having the strength to fight.
She never forgot though that he was the first
To let the imagination in her soul burst,
So as to light up the darkest room,
And give rightful glory to her gloom.
So when she heard of his death, she felt hollow,
Thought she had no more inspiration to follow.
Soon she realized however,
He wasn’t the one who had given her this power,
There was always a spark in her, ready to burn,
He was the one who had aroused it in his turn.
Her journey thus she continued,
Her fire would not be subdued.
Now as she lies in her grave,
She never disturbs her peace, save,
When she turns to her right,
To meet his eyes, buried, but bright.
This is the 200th post on this blog and it also marks the beginning of the A Post A Day series for the month of May. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Stay tuned for more.