I write of abandonment.
I write of hope.
I write of restoration and resurrection from the dead.
I write of second chances
and of love. Especially love.
I write of faith, broken and reclaimed.
I write of depression.
And dancing. And music,
dirges and dances.
I write my anger.
My frustration at a world more willing to hate
than care. I seethe sometimes.
I write of second chances.
Did I say that before?
Well, we need them. So I write of them
I write of simplicity.
I write of struggles and brokenness
and the art of seeing.
It’s a pretty small repertoire.
But it’s all I have. I suppose I am far more simple
than the world around me.
unable to write fiction in my verse,
I repeat myself often, rearranging words,
hoping somehow, sometimes
to get it right.