I Write Poetry

I sit in the darkness of my room
nary a light not even the moon
nor a twinkling star
the night is so black

I hear my heartbeat
I feel my breath on my hand
I hear not a stirring
nor the odd creakings in this old house

my thoughts turn to you
to the last time we spoke
to the plans that we made
to the wonderings of our hearts

and though sitting alone
in this eerily still quiet room
I am not alone, for though
you are miles away
you are here with me
as if here, were your very home