I hide in music. . . sometimes, my only friend.
Or poems, with my second friend, a pen.
They ease me to shut my eyes. . . drift away.
Your love for me is clear in lucid words.
But when you’re missed, there’s no words for the hurt.
Sometimes, solitary, I weep alone.
Please take away the way I feel, I pray. . .
Please take away this pain, every day. . .
Take away the way. . . take it all away. . .
I hide in the shadows, under your wings.
I hide when I muse too much about things.
But you’re always here, and that’s what consoles. . .
© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.