I could sing you a love song,
a song I weaved from
the lonely,
every swing of the door,
and on every footsteps getting farther.
I could sing you a love song,
a song I weaved from
the pain,
every silent tears streaking
with numb fingers
refusing to wipe them away.
I could sing you a love song,
a song weaved from the happy who flew,
flapped its wings amongst the gentle sky,
the bird who has stolen my smile.


—Pender, Oli