When you loved me, my poetry glowed br Then you left and my inspiration slowed br Still I keep writing to express my pain br Though I may never pen love poems again br br When my teardrops blur the page br And I'm locked in heartache's rage br I wipe away my tears and begin to write br By the second or third verse, I'm feeling alright br br When the heartache is on the page to see br I know that it's coming from out of me br Leaving less inside for me to bear br My pain, my poetry willingly does share br br And when at last, my poem is finished br I find my pain has greatly diminished br And reading it over for the third or fourth time br I'm amazed by the therapy I've found in a rhymebr br Harry J.