Silent Conversations
I ought to write a silly poem
To pick my spirits up.
Just a bit of fun to show him
Something’s still in wits’ cup.
I promised not to go silent
Without his prodding on.
Within my grief, be defiant –
See what memories spawn.
Perhaps I am not yet ready
To do anything silly.
My thoughts, churning in an eddy,
Will not joke tranquilly.
But I do smile everyday
When he visits my mind.
He seems ready to come and play,
If I am so inclined.
I must fill in his dialogue
With words he may have said.
Is he my mental analog
Bouncing within my head?
But there’s his charm, there’s his question,
And there’s his certainty.
There to start another bull session
And fire my circuitry.
