Letter To My Worried Lover

You are not my book.

But you are my favorite story.

And somewhere deep in the poetry of my pain,

Lie the words I used to paint your glory.

Just like the tiny sparkle of light in a pitch dark tunnel of darkness.

Your story lies sewn of wise words amongst all that is artless.

A little drop of happiness though over weighs an ocean of pain,

The drop I wish to cherish but the hefty ocean I must drain.

Somehow darkness occupies poetry, brighter than light.

And though it bothers you, love. I'm glad you haven't put me through enough pain to write.

You are the love of a poet, who will keep you alive long after you perish.

People may confide in the stories of my pain, but yours is the one they will truly cherish.

You're worried my poems tell you I'm in despair.

Dear love, it doesn't deepen as I write, but fades each time I dare.

The darkness sometimes clouds your light,

But your mere appearance is still what makes it lose the fight.