I started writing as a poet. A bad one. Yeah, I’m sure that’s a surprise to everyone.
Pimply, round. Lonely. I could only express myself through words packed like a fist from the mouth of a volcano. On paper.
I have gone through a divorce, as clean and fast as anyone I have ever heard of. The emotional cost, however, has been vast. It has taken a toll on my creative side. Every time I get to something emotional, something real, I shy away like an animal faced with fire.
My health is improving and now the emotional rebuilding has begun. My temper has been bad as of late. Adversity is no longer a mountain to be overcome, but a punishment from a fickle and uncaring god. I can’t live like that, and that means a change. I can only hope those around me will cut me slack when I need it and be hard on me when it is called for. I have also decided to go back to the beginning.
I need to start writing. For my sanity, for my future, and for my… To have a purpose again.
So, back to the beginning. Bad poetry stuttered out from an embarrassed pen.
And by that road, I will get back to where I need to be.
I am told that my love is water.
And I worry.
For water, tempestuous and tossed,
It swallows and it storms.
And shatters the heavens with electric fangs.
It uses knives made of its own body
to carve stone from the mountain face.
And to rush down valleys sweeping everything from its path.
The voice inside me, it knows these truths
And it burns with the cold of a thousand fathoms
Feels the pressure of merciless depths of my passion
And I wonder who will plumb me.
To know me even where the brightest sun cannot see
But who would want to,
And who would dare
To swim in the uncounted
Where the brightest sun cannot see.
But then I remember that the sun does shine
And it dances on the surface of my adoration
like angels at play.
And though it can rage, it can also heal,
Falling gently on living things
Bringing life to the moonscape
and health to the wilting.
It can fulfill any vessel,
And quench any thirst
Brave enough to press lips to sip
And it may be frozen
Locked in prison for millennia
it may be buried in the shifting sands,
too far for mortal hands to reveal
But though it be boiled on desert rocks
Or tossed into the sky on thousand foot drops
It may be smashed into vapor, trod into dirt,
It may be beaten and left and forgotten
But my love is water
and it will sneak into the sky
And form dragons and wolves and lions
It may turn black and threaten
It may scatter the sunlight into beautiful spectrums
But it never dies
And it never fails
It cannot be destroyed
For it is my love.
And it always, always survives.
Even where the brightest sun cannot see.