Blackout Poetry Notes

Find Your Own Ink

Find your own ink and paper,
but will you have
enough to say?

He is essential
to happiness,
he is everything
to me.

Former dreams end,
he feared
he would forget himself
and no one 
would know him.

To observe art as
an impersonal thing is common.
Between the lines
an shapeless blurs
is a singular experience
outside the trivial.

I did not know whether
to resent my dreams; almost
concealed behind an excess of
emotion. I continued the length
of the night: time stagnates here.

I promise
hand against heart
to express what my heart seldom reveals,
the deep purity of this love
and our happiness
as long as I live.

You cannot comprehend
how incomplete my life looked
when I had lost her.

I say truly
as I draw closer to the end
my heart is better
in old age.

I will write
no more
on the melancholy
of the future.

Time never rests.
we stumble, traveling
but we go so far
to meet love.