Poetry time

Once in a while I get a desire to write poetry.  Usually it goes away but this one would not let me be.

I heard

I wrote
and I heard
 I heard truth.
 had always been there.
is always there.
Why didn’t I see truth before?
Why couldn’t I hear truth before?
Truth had nudged me for decades.
I just nudged truth back.
 Truth would not go away.
Truth haunted me.
I knew not what truth was.
truth was in a place I cared not look.
truth was in a place I dared not look.
 I never thought to look for truth 
through my pen,
through my grit
through my grime.
I never dared to look for truth 
through my pen,
through my grit
through my grime.

Not until
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote
the things that are
the things that aren’t
the things that may
the things that might
truth was heard.

Truth spoke to me
words from a raining cloud.
Truth spoke to me
 words from the sizzling lightning
burning across the sky
blazing a path
that I was afraid to walk.

The words
dripping blood and ink
my mind,
my eyes,
my heart
my soul.

truth spoke to me
and now
I have 
the strength
to walk the path
of sizzling lightning.
I am
 not afraid
of falling any more.


JP/deb said...

For me this beautifully described the cathartic nature of writing.

sg beatty said...

Thanks deb...I appreciate that you took the time to read and comment.

About Me

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So Cal, United States
I am an apprentice writer of short stories and I also attempt a little poetry.