Have I lost my rhyme?
In the learning to be alone,
Do I still hear the cadence?
Do I still feel the words?
In their absence, do I ramble?
And say nothing?
The sweet poetry has become a stranger.
I once felt it as a comforting quilt.
Making sense, it flowed from my soul.
Images became words and words became dreams.
I took them for granted, perhaps.
And one day, as the sun set, they left me.