Write Alone

The lad, the no income bard.
And love just don't cut it,
when times get hard.

She thanked me for the laughs,
rhymes, and the billet-doux.
But I'm a silk stocking girl,
that needs more than you.

In a silent shrug I understood.

Still had my hair, still a handsome
young blood.

Just one of those times life sends
you back home.
To pick up a pen and write alone.

2 thoughts on “Write Alone”

1. This is a lovely piece—full of warmth and resilience. There’s a gentle dignity in the speaker’s acceptance, and a quiet confidence in turning heartache into art. The rhythm carries the bittersweetness beautifully, and that last line feels like both an ending and a beginning—a return to the self, and to the page, where pain becomes poetry. Really well done.

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   1. Thanks mate – that’s deep.

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