Dead Poets

This pen feels heavy now
Each stroke feels substantial
The poet in me has gone comatose
I punish myself with this pen

By writing words of love in empty white sheets
Words,  which I should be whispering  in your ears
But you are not here, you flowed away like the ink that flows in these empty sheets

I write with this heavy pen
Words of emptiness in empty sheets
These words echo within me , longing to get out of these vacant sheets