For Those Who Love A Writer



I was happy to be alone
writing in my solitary fashion.
Pen in hand, ideas boiling
from my head, rolling out of
my pen.


I was able to sit in my quiet places
never exchanging many words with you.
I was unafraid of sitting only
with my self
and my ideas.
Your present absence
made it easy.


For years I lived life
on a stack of pages
while you existed,
a nebulous, unseen someone
on the periphery of me.


Now you are gone;
tired of living alone,
I suppose you were
unamused by the muse
of a woman writing,
always writing.

And for the first time

I am afraid of the dark
and
my own company


###
Poem by Pamela Tyree Griffin