I sit wandering,

when did the molehill become a mountain

when did we start to grow apart

It seems we have mastered the art of war

but like inwar we can never win.

Too many casualties.

My heart bleeds, I want to reach out

but you are unreachable

you touch me physically,

yet I can't touch you

because the mountain stands between us.

So many words left unsaid,

conversation is pointless you say

you've said it all, yet you haven't said enough

we are now intimate strangers

holding on to what was, a hope

we dream will happen

I now know that silence can be more painful

much more painful than words.

I like, I like it's a good start.

Your fourth line made me stop and think, because i've never associated war with art... and so I find that an interesting association.

blkcrythat poem is like the story of my life!

very good.

Very nice - I like that