Sitting in a darkened room, I cry and think of you.
All the colors drain from my eyes except for gray and blue.
The love I feel for you is still in my heart, but you can not be in my arms.
As I lay on our bed alone. The more I think of you, the tears stop.
Life has drained right out of my finger tips all over the bed.
The heavier my body gets the more hope drains out of my feet and on to the floor.
It's a miracle that with all I am drained of, the love I feel for you is still in my heart, but you can not be in my arms.
By: Sylvia Blankinship