About a guy who wrote about an event in his life and kept on because it was the only way that he'd get past what had taken place in his life. Basically writing subdued his pain. But there came a day where he got past it, the pain had left so he laid down the pen and stopped. Just like that...Writing on many levels is soothing..


Then one day he just laid down the pen and stopped writing

It was then I asked why tried hard to confide him,

Why is it you stopped when on roll it seemed,

He turned to me and with a half way grin

Said nothing left no more to say 

You see I've gone and came back 

The place I've not been.

                                                                                ~t.m.k \m/

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed