Unfortunate Lack of a Poem

I will write on the sky,
With stars for a pen.
I write on a scale
Unknown to mortal men.
I write Homer's Odyssey,
Along with other epics.
Stories that give insight to readers.
I write about the adventures of man.
Stories that give God-inspired motion.
I write about two people.

I write how the with stars in her eye,
Smiles and manages to shiver my spine.
But the smile is not the story here.
There is no romance, she is no Juliet;
It's been twisted and broken since first we met.
It won't matter at all in the long run of things.
There'll be no reminder men eternally sing.
On and then off…
Perhaps it will never
Mean that much to you, reader of these letters.
And you won't understand why it matters.
With this preface, I give a caveat.
This poem will waste your time,
As it has wasted my heart.
You'll lose your place,
You'll put the book down.
Reader beware, there's no story here.

I cry as I write because I know it is nothing
There was no love, or even seduction.
But you won't cry, the story is not sad…
Because there is no story.
There is no epic.
There is no love, there's no affection.
There are only these thoughts of a lonely boy.
Sitting alone they get out of control.
And the love that he wishes for so much.
Is a stake in his heart as he sits with his pen.

I write on a heart
With flames for a pen.
With hopes it will cauterize,
And the love there will end.
I write a simple ode,
To a wonderful .
A story set in early October.
I write about trees weeping,
Losing their leaves.
I write about two people.
One of them is me.