Words

I write when the words fail to explain the sorrows,

The sorrows that my heart beholds.

I write when the moon turns pale,

Constantly listening to my grief-struck stories,

The stories that suck the life out of him,

My love, the Moon.

The nightingale sang the saddest of songs,

While the Stars lost their glow.

Are they sad because I am?

Or have they had enough of my endless, chaotic, melancholic, miserable, failed saddening stories?

Will I ever take moment to understand that the moon is sighing as I create problems that don't exist?

And listen to the songs of encouragement melodiously sung by nightingale?

Will I ever restore the energy that the Stars have lost while constantly lighting up my world?

Will I ever be worthy of the pain that they endured for me while I constantly nagged about the non-existent pain?

I laugh at myself for being a fool.

I try my best to live like the moon, the stars, and the nightingale.

I write realizing my mistakes.

I smile for the love I am receiving and count on the blessings.

While the moon cradled me and the stars cuddled me and the nightingale sang a lullaby for me.

I write,

I write the words!