It Goes Without Saying


W. B. Yeats and Maud Gonne

It goes without saying,
and never was, how it felt
to be close but never touch.
When he thought she invited,
but never in spoken request,
he’d withdraw and gulp tight
the lock upon all the words
he meant to say, capturing
their music with no physical
means of escape.

With lyrical arts he believed
he might chink up what twigs
of Them might build
a nest of a We. He opened
her eyes writing sad love songs
echoing within him.
She gave him what he needed
to write them.
That’s a problem
with unrequited love.
It goes without saying.

Catchup Poem #19 of Poem-A-Day NaPoWriMo 2016, using the Writers Digest prompt for an unsaid poem. Here’s one of my 100-word story poems that leaves a lot unsaid. It’s the top of an iceberg leaving a whole lot unrevealed beneath the waves. Kind of like how I’ll leave the story behind those two unrequiteds up there to you, too.


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