She said no more sad songs.
I strip the piano wire
from the piano, and let it fall to the floor,
next to
letters with
all that I had left to say.
I find every pen in the house
and give them to the mail man when he comes that day.
I take down all the posters.
I make a box full of
metaphors and similes
and what I thought would materialize as hope.
The flames from the box
momentarily take the chill from the air,
little plumes of words race up the chimney
sending smoke signals to no one.

She used to embrace the
sadness.
She used to say it’s how she knew she was alive.
She used to wait for each word
while it dripped off my pen and tongue
as I spread her in tri-fold color
like a bleeding lotus.
But she is the one that left us both as smoke -
she as weightless, as free,
and I as blackened as the soot
holding on to the hearth,
waiting to be swept up
and collected...

Such disposable gems.

Riveting, Ghost_Writer..

You are two for two! ...Another great write!

Just awesome...

Amazing write

Love this also ,very good indeed .

Excellent write....