I’m not a poet, but sometimes the mood comes over me and I like to write poetry. While I was writing the novel, Making it Home, I wrote this poem, wrapped within the novel. I hope you like it, but please do keep in mind I lay no claim to being a proper poet 
I close my eyes that I may see that which my heart denies
It whispers loud, I cannot hear, as into the night it cries.
Where is the love you had for me?
Where are the ties that bind?
What will the cold morn bring to me,
If the truth I cannot find?
When we were young and blithe and free
My heart caressed your soul.
If ’twas for me you tarried here
Why am I now alone?
My love was true, my heart is broke.
You care not this to know.
The journey’s done, the voyage o’er, so whither shall I go?
~~~
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