In Silent Misery

I think my heart is dying
and my pen it writes in rust.
My soul too old, it has decayed
and blown away like dust
I'm losing my ability
to take a hand in trust.
I tire of giving, always in a whirl
and try to be your everything
your universe, unfurled.

I'm not strong as you might think
and all I want? You there next to me.
Oh I would, I'd dance for you,
and at the end, I'd bow so sweet,
await in silent misery,
in prayer you might notice me.