Haunt me not with thine unspoken words,

As we lay down in sleep upon this broken ground.

Where once was sung long breaths of hope and love,

Now only a stream of silence flows.

I miss thine hand upon this brow,

So eager to stroke such worries away.

Wither hast thou gone?

Out beyond a sea of living moments.

Young and old can only imagine,

The walks thine feet now flee to.

I have been left upon this soft grass,

Watering each blade with my tears.

Beneath the waning moon I lie,

And wait for mine own feet to follow thee.

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Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.