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| Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash |
In the beginning the words flowed.
They rushed joyfully through my veins,
Erupted enthusiastically onto the page.
An orgy of creation that filled a deep need.
The years passed, my skills improved.
Words still flowed out, but thoughtfully.
Clarity was honed, the distracting released.
Pride arose as my story telling skills matured.
But in the background a seed took root.
As it grew, so did a deep discontent..
Repetition and practice had elevated my work,
But also brought the yawn of disinterest.
I missed the joyful eruption of ideas.
Yearned for the excitement of the eruption.
Flash fiction, short stories, challenges helped.
But only one direction brought relief - poetry.
Working with the rhythm, evoking emotions,
Choosing words carefully and purposefully,
Offered a joyful new path to explore,
A soothing balm to my creative soul.
Baby step after baby step I move forward.
Days of traditional writing are off-set by
Moments of diving into feeling and emotion,
Exploring imagery and beats and rhymes.
How long will poetry be the answer?
That is a question only time will answer.
But for now I sink into the rhythmic flow and
Paint feelings with word both simple and complex.
Poetry is the answer my soul was seeking.
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