The words will cease one summer night:
Just midway through an opening line
A poem stops and calm descends.
They drain my veins these awful words.
The words have worth I never knew.
Their meanings hide in other minds,
They find their ways to pool their tricks,
They carve their tracks through broken hearts.
And I will stare at stars that night,
And see them just as points of light.
And I will feel the wordless dew:
Just notice it and know it’s true.
The words will mourn me in my void:
You’ll find the words despairing there.