
Stalking words at 2 a.m., incorrigible insomniac
the poet, a tragic figure perhaps, a mourner
For loves lost and lives wasted.
A simpler time, with simple loving minds yearned for.
Words upon pages can only do so much
Frustration and despair gnaw at her heels
Disempowered by insignificance, her quiet, retiring,
restrained voice of passionate…


