Unsung

Your songs are left unfinished, your coffee left un-drunk.
You left in such a hurry, your cigarettes are still un-smoked.
I am left grasping the straws, wondering where you drifted.
I don't know how to cope, so I sit on the floor and smoke.

Your cigarettes will not be wasted, your coffee will not grow cold.
I will leave all of these things just as they are, hope beyond hope.
Hope that you will return, though they say there is no way.
Your hospital bed is lonely when your mind is so far away.

I drag my fingers across piano keys, playing notes to call you home.
At night I sit by your bed, hearing your heart beat through wires,
listening to your breath rattle in your broken lungs.
I kiss your fingertips with my tears and I beg you back to life.

You've left so much undone, my love. You are too young,
too beautiful, too impossible to hold, too impossible to let go.
How am I to battle angels I can not see? I grip your hand fiercely.
The nurse tells me that I have to get some sleep, to go home.

I have no home without you. Where would I curl up if I lose your heart?
If I scream will it make you wake up? What can I do to keep you here?
If only for a moment longer, I would do anything to hold you again.
The nurse doesn't scold me when I curl up beside you on the bed.

You have too much left undone, my love, to leave me so soon.
Your songs are unsung, your words unsaid. I twine our fingers,
rest my head on your shoulder and watch your chest heave a sigh.
If I let you go, who will I sing for? Who will I love?

Your songs are left unfinished, your coffee left un-drunk.
All that remains are the memories stored in boxes with your name.
You left in such a hurry, I barely caught your name. It was a kiss,
a whisper against my lips. You tasted so bitter-sweet, my darling.