I've had so much to tell you
but instead
have hid those thoughts and words
far right, beneath my head.
Ideas were little soldiers
marching off to war
and every time I let one out
the damage grew some more.
Why I kept an army
I will never know.
I am not a warrior,
or driven down like new snow.
I don't wish to linger
for another day.
I have nothing more to gain
within this redundant play.
Will you go on living
once I've gone away?
Will you stand there listening
when I've nothing more to say?