when he spoke of a rose
he spoke of me
when he spole of heaven
and hell
and emrald green waves
he spoke of me
the love that he feels
and the pain that
i caused
he spoke of in lines
of sweet poetry
he wrote of a war
one he would not win
of marrage and lust
gone like the wind
riding on wings
of a thousand doves
love has left him
alone and glum
yet he still writes
sonnets of
love and war
words of heaven and hell
still flow like streams
of emrald green waves
they still fill pages
and lines apon lines
notebooks of sonnets
and sweet gentle rhyms
he still writes of roses
that bloom in winter time

casandra jacobs

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-writes/