by: Andia

Sitting here waiting for inspiration
Pen in hand like a mad fool
Somewhere behind my thoughts,
I keep hearing your name.
But what will I write?
How much I love you? It's been said before
Too many times, too many ways.
How I tremble past consciousness
When I look into your eyes?
No one would believe or understand.
How your voice in even the softest whisper
Drowns all other sound from my ears?
All too trite, too plain.
I am no Cyrano -- he would be shamed by me.
And Roxane would disdain my awkward phrases.
After all, how can I bring to light
the shadow of my heart?




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