Another night, an empty page as yet untouched; impatiently
awaits some thought, some hope, some dream...
it lies there, almost tauntingly;
as if to say... "You call yourself a poet?...
No, I don't think so;
you play with words to seek acclaim;
this is the truth... as you well know."

But, they are... only words.


And, yet, this was not always thus; such words spoke truly... for my part;
to bring a smile; perhaps, to spark sweet memory... caress a heart.
The lost romantic, hoping he could hold the flame a little while
longer...
knowing She was there...
hoping he could bring a smile.

For, they were not... only words.


But, that was then; and this is now;
and, She is lost... at least, to me.
And, I cannot reach out and touch Her thoughts, as once... it used to be,
and I no longer see her words and thoughts...
nor seek, between the lines
something, that perhaps, was never there
by chance... or, by design.

If, they were... only words.


And, that then, I shall never know; and that, is how it has to be;
but, still... She tip-toes through my thoughts...
I wonder... does She think of me
sometimes?
Just check the cyber-mail again...
but, She is never there;
and, such contrivance I might write...
to me, now lacks Poetic flair.

and will always be... only words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a small series of poems on what goes wrong when a relationship in cyberspace falters...
not autobiographical.