Unwritten

People stir up poems in me that can never be written.

For words rarely truly match the value of hearts and souls.

I have many pages blackened by ink, that hold so many emotions,

Yet the shape of the letters, the rhythm and sound of sentences

Lack in expressing my love, my grief, the things I've longed for, 

The faces I've lost, the dreams that never came into being 

and the parts of my heart I gave away and were never returned.

Some inspire light, bouncy sonnets, that float in the air, 

Translate the feeling of being in love, of receiving a smile

as the greatest gift ever given.

Others fill me with words like pebbles: small but heavy, greyed by the years

That will pave the way to my next fears.

Verses will draw the silhouette of old loves, they will paint the colour of their lips

Say the sound of their laugh, the smell of their skin.

But memories can't be held in a few lines. 

They keep on unfolding, emotions persist to disrupt my day to day life, 

With small flashes of light or deeper holes of dark. 

Words sketch the outline, but the weight or the light in my soul, 

Will never fully hold in a couple of letters.

People stir up poems in me that can never be written.