Tonight I have no song for you.
Tonight my music's quiet.
I cannot sing. I cannot play.
My mood has silenced the notes away.
So in my hand I clutch my pen
and let the words appear.
I rely on just the act of writing
to let the music disappear.
Tomorrow might bring the music back.
There's always hope that tomorrow
can bring the peace that's missing
and erase the traces of sorrow.
But for now I need the silence
except for the sound of the pen.
And as I sit here writing
I anticipate the music again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem