Present
A reflection.
You guys are the only ones that read my stuff.
I wrote so many poems, Some of which showed love for youI asked at times you'd read them, I'm still waiting that you do. Perhaps you can't be bothered, Perhaps you're listening to a tune;But one day —all you'll have are words, And that day will come too soon. Perhaps then, you will be sorry;You'll be full of deep regret That you put off 'til tomorrow, — That you haven't read it yet.Perhaps then, you will be sorry;That you didn't take the timeTo hear the voice that wrote them,And see the love pour from each line.One day my voice will silence,And my hands will be so stillThe words I write a memory,No more pages to be filled;All that's left of me in pagesStuck inside a book,Of a time when I was 'present'— And you never took a look.