What is there to write?
My grief? My pain?
My struggle to find myself?
Been asking myself for sometime now
Never really thought it was still in me
Poetry.
Yet like memories it is never lost
Merely replaced by yet another one
Much stronger, much recent
Built and matured by time
It remains.
Lodged in a safe corner of my mind
In the protected part of your spirit
Brought back to the surface by situations
Triggered by an etched experience
Freedom.
To once again express my entire soul
No sugar coatings, no pretenses
Held in the palm of one’s hand,
Scribbled for keeps
That as generations pass I can look back
No need for rhymes
So pure.
Form the heart
Mere legend to some
To me, they are my dream given life by words
Caught on paper.
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