The Placeholder

Like a long Latin period

or the quick brown fox,

I’m standing in,

holding the place;

waiting for something better

to emerge from the writer’s pen.

He knows he’s not the one.

He writes about anything

apart from this;

biding his time,

hoping for something kinder

to be said by the one he loves.

So he writes wistful verses

or the sharp short line,

that’s standing in,

holding the place;

hiding the strongest feelings

to emerge from the foolish heart.