Why Do I Write Poems? Here’s Why

“Why do you write?” she asked so low. He paused, then whispered, soft and slow, “To find some peace.” But in his chest, He knew the truth he hid the best. It wasn’t peace he tried to find, But pieces of a love left behind. He wrote of her, the way she smiled, The way she left, so soft, so wild. Each word he wrote, a quiet cry, Each line, a tear he wouldn’t dry. He chose the pen when she let go, And kept her close in ink and woe. She may have left without goodbye, But stayed in poems he couldn’t deny. So when they ask, he hides the pain His poems are love that can’t remain.