Untitled.

I wrote a poem for he who would never write for me.
In honor of our friendship and it's long lost memory.
Summoned every ounce of spirit and released it through my pen.
Got lost between the lines over and over again.
But when I tried to read it, I stuttered every word.
And I fear that it's because it was absurd
that I would try and still fail miserably
to write a poem for he who would never write for me.

I painted a portrait of he who would never paint of me.
Put my emotions into colors however bleak they seemed to be.
All except those bright brown eyes that just don't look at me the same.
I blended every shade of gray and sealed it with my name.
But when I put it on display it lacked that final touch.
And I fear that it's because it would hurt me just too much
to paint a countenance so weary when it never used to be.
Before I painted the portrait of he who will never paint of me.

I sang a song for he who would never sing for me.
Took the music from my soul and composed a symphony.
Perfected every note to call for him bu name.
To serenade his heavy heart instead to cause it pain.
But when I stood up to perform the tune projected bittersweetly.
And I fear that it's because he'll never understand completely
the meaning hidden deep within the casual melody
of a song I sang for he who would never sing to me.

I cried a tear for he who will never cry for me.
For every time we spent just sitting next to our special tree.
For the way I'll spend my sleepless nights in absolute despair.
Forever reaching out for him when I know he isn't there.
But sometimes I still imagine him near, even though I know.
And I fear that it's because I just can't bare to let him go.
So I'm doomed to spend my life in a broken fantasy
Thinking and dreaming of he who has long forgotten me...