Sometimes I will do this.
Visit the blogs of people who are not on my reading list.
Type out the addresses from memory and hit 'Return'.
Wait. Knowing what I certainly know, yet I yearn.
Maybe I'll be proved right. That they don't write.
Or maybe, that they have.
When I see that last post.
And find that it's a 3 year old ghost.
I become wistful. With a dash of melancholic, for taste.
Wondering why they stopped. Making judgements of lost potential in haste.
Could it be that they've moved to another ground?
To something like Whatsapp; more convenient, less profound?
Perhaps staid routine claims another writer.
Whose ink is fading, as the page grows whiter.
I'll admit, the thought makes me sad.
Though I know there's no use feeling bad.
So, I'm going to fall back on that old standby; hope.
Visit old posts, reminisce and cope.
Wonder if the authors will ever rediscover the fun.
And write again, even if it is a poem as basic as this one.
Song for the moment: Lamento - Melibea