twoblueviolets

I need to write. 

God, do I.

It's been days, with no click of the keys

to write out simple stories, poems, words

things that will never see the light of day

but I still love.

I write about the death of kings, of peasants, of a soldier
I form the meter to make the final trek of a soldier

Do not assume the writing is the writer
but assume the writing is to break/wreck a soldier

You play electric guitar

I play acoustic

Neither of us are very good.

I know a few chords,

I played the chorus of 505 for you

You told me to "get Weezered"

Come climb the willow tree,

up the weeping branches,

Claudio, from that play we read

years ago in school,

he climbed the willow tree

to make a garland for himself,

Something I inherited but will not pass on
is knowing there is an absence of affliction;
the madness of the wife of Agamemnon.
An assumption that is long overdue eviction

She is not really gone

She is right here

She is not really lost

She's only at college

becoming a

a sister that I do not know

a girl beyond creation