How it all began

an empty book in my hand,
an empty mind and my heart,
I sat once, unknowing
of how to say what I felt.

knew not why I felt a void,
felt unease even to speak;
knew not a soul would listen,
only pretend to understand.

heart knew not how to lie,
words had to escape, be free,
took refuge, in what it loved,
its beats jumped to poetry.

lost, to the power of words,
old scars escaped to paper,
new hope started to grow,
emptiness started to taper.

in the silence of a pencil,
I found myself once again,
in the mirror of my poems,
I felt the soothing rain.

connected, to my heartbeat,
I knew my calling was this,
so whenever I feel a void,
I know what to reminisce.


Linked with OctPoWriMo (Day 3, Connected To Inner Self)


(’12, Oct 03)

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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