Poets are loved

But not like a poet loves

Eyes of souls not yet born will paint stories from my poetry of a love that I never had

For I gave everyone the love I’ve always wanted

And preserved it on parchment and ink for proof that I existed

There are no writings of the pain of my absence because it is not missed

No secret pleas to the stars to bring me back

People don’t miss me, I stay too long

And linger hauntingly after