Volley

Oh, but I wait for words

That do not come,

Crossing not before my eyes tonight

Upon this cold, hard, clear canvass.

Where oft times a volley,

As if for sport, words,

Traded between two lovers until

As the eve draws on, both are spoken.

Not left of words, but rather,

That nights' race ran,

Another looked forward to -

So brevity brings the long played volley

To a rest.

I searched again, that night following the first

But nothing.

Seemingly, while the racquets rest

My lover carried on

Somewhere out of earshot

And spent words that upon my ear,

Did not fall.

As the skies turn,

And weather changes

Life continues on,

To fill the pages of unwritten books

Volumes not spoken, but lived

Leaving the ink dry, yet in the well.