Every Poem

Every song I've written was to you
What I wrote for them was just a ruse
I needed to use something real, so I drew from the well
Of the only love I ever knew.

Every song I've written was to you
Every note, every letter, every tune.
The leatherbounds upon the wall, the old cassettes, I filled them all
With scribbles of a frenzied call to you.

Every song I've written was to you
All my craft is tarnished with your hue
In the corner of my vision, you dictate my direction
possessing every motion of the loom.

Every song I've written was to you
I'll surely bear this burden to my tomb.
Today I had this idea. I'll compose with different media.
One stanza would suffice to cut me loose!

Every song I've written was to you
Turns out, every poem now is too.
But the true tragedy, is if ever there would be
No passion left in me to write anew.