the poetess lay under the sky
pages of words fluttering around
a pen in her hand
waiting.

the moon provides her company,
holds and consoles her,
stars twinkle to please her,
still she lays under the sky
waiting.

closes her eyes yet open
sees the views she desired true
an ache bites in her heart
the soft touch of poetry
succumbs her need,
a pen in her hand
still waiting.

a sigh released
inhale and exhale, my dear.
where is my sun? she wonders.
the moon knows his love,
isn't the one she craves
but where is he?

she is pained
to not be drenched in warm sunlight,
stars can't please her
without  the star of fire in her horizon.
the pages grow restless to burn
under her dying passion,
but she lays under the sky
a pen in her hand,
waiting.

-where is the poetess' sun?