A short poem I wrote in a brief fit of inspiration. Still finding my creative spark again, but there might be a bit of art to go with this in the future.
The Poet Weeps
We do not weep for the poet,
but for rhyme that whispers to our heart.
For the words that flow,
into that sundered part;
We weep for ourselves.
Moved by the bard’s art.
But do not see, between the metered lines,
the poet’s tears falling silently apart.