Without A Pen Poem by Edward W. Cousins

12/26/2010

With a Pen

She sang me a song in french.
I didnt know what it meant.
Not enough drunken nights
to make her appear here.
That was the first time i told a girl
i loved her in many years.
Well atleast one that was true.
I can tell a girl i love her to get what i want.
Thats easy enough.
More then likely she wont mean it either.
But when a girl sings to me in french.
She knows what she is doing.
When she falls asleep on my hand.
And looks like an angel.
I command all wars to end.
It was a space in time that was big enough
to earn a place in my heart forever.
Which really isnt much if they
could just learn some french.
Or fall into a dream on my lap.
Ive wrote a poem or two for a few girls.
(One wrote me a poem the other is a little to busy these days)
Blew out my ear drums on a song.
I seriously doubt they keep them long.
The one i want to find is the one
who takes the poem and puts it on her wall,
in her dresser drawer or shows her friends.
Ive never asked any of them if they have done this.
It would be pointless to push them in a way i want them to be.
If they cant do it on their own.
I couldnt even begin to tell you
how many times ive dreamed of her.
Lying still in my bed. Each one comes along
with different songs to sing.

But now i think about it...
They all did something worth writing for.
Or nothing at all.
I did tell one more i loved her and meant it.
But sometimes alot more is said through silence.
Or without a pen...