The pen hovers still

The pen hovers still,Frozen like midwinter thoughts.While ink slowly dries. How did I write, then,In those days before you came,Bringing me such joy?Now that you are gone from me,My shattered art weeps such words. Joy taught me the skills,That gives life to hollow thought,Arranged in sad forms.

midland autumn rains

Midland autumn rains,Morning mists growing colder,Summer passes on. Piano keys creak,Old hands struggle with placement,But still, it sounds good. Passing strangers smile,Lives meeting in the stairwell,Never again seen. The scarf on the hook,Made with love by an old 'friend',Still smells of perfume. The painter's wet cheeks,Just enough to thin old paint,Now, let's start again.