“Who are you?” A voice asked.
I broke from my trance, aware of the soothing warmth of the ceramic mug, the chatter of voices, and the feel of eyes upon me. Qiyamah.
He smiled, repeating himself slowly.
“Who are you?”
Who am I? For that brief moment I knew

I am a nomad of love
Wandering through deserts of despair
Camping in oasis that fade away
Hunting on land full of swift souls
And still I forge on.
I am a warrior of love
Planning the best defense to protect
My heart standing knee deep in false hope
Fighting for a prize I have yet to find
And still I solider on.
I am an artist of love
Molding my burning desires into shapes
Writing a song that dares to be sung
Painting a picture only I can see
And still I dream on.
I am a believer of love
Preaching on theories that have no validity
Teaching a vision of both folk and faith
Praying for something I know must be
And always I move on.
Onward to the final destination.
That I know, that I feel, that I need –
love.

But instead I smiled and said,
“I am a very…simple woman.”

*Nomad of Love ©️ 2004 TaMara E’Lan G.
**Excerpt from
Timeless: Through the Eyes of a Poet by TaMara E’Lan G. ©️ 2018

For my husband, who left too soon. For me, who stayed.

We were building something real.
Something messy and beautiful and ours.
Three years of laughs,
Hard talks, late-night plans,
Tears and kisses and silly fights
That ended in bed or in smiles.

You were my safe place.
My soft landing.
My best friend and my storm.

We said forever in March.
Turned keys to our first home in May.
And in July—
You left me
With a silence so loud
It still rings in my bones.

I watched you go.
I screamed.
I begged.
I broke in ways I can’t explain—
Not even to myself.

You didn’t just die.
You tore the sky open,
And I’m still standing in the wreckage,
Barefoot, bleeding, trying to breathe.

People say “you’re so strong.”
No.
I’m not strong.
I’m shattered.
But I wake up anyway.
I make coffee.
I cry quietly in the shower.
I hold our memories like landmines—
Knowing any one of them can level me.

I loved you too much to be okay.
But I also love you enough
To keep going.

Even when it hurts.
Even when I hate you for leaving me.
Even when I ache for just one more touch,
One more laugh,
One more “I’m home.”

You were the love of my life.
The stepfather who adored our kids like they were your own.
The man who made ordinary things feel magical.
You were it for me.

And now I carry all of that
Inside a heart stitched with grief and fire.

I’m still here,
Still breathing,
Still holding the broken pieces
Of everything we were supposed to be.

And I will keep going—
Not because I’m strong,
But because love like ours
Deserves to survive
Even if one of us didn’t.

Your Word say in Ezekiel 11 verse 19 “I will give them a singleness of heart and put a new spirit in them I will take away their stony stubborn heart and give them a tender responsive heart”, (NIV)

I come now asking for an exchange.

Where there is anger,
Grant me Love.
Where I harbor resentment,
Teach me Forgiveness.
Where there is regret,
Show me Acceptance.
Where I hide my shame,
Give me Honor.
Where I buried my sorrows,
Bring forth Gladness.
Where I have pain
Restore me with Comfort.
When I crumble under doubt,
Rise me up into Assurance.
Where there is Chaos,
Bring my thoughts into Order.
Where there is confusion
Show me Clarity.
Where I may pass Judgement,
Open me up to Compassion.
Where I have pride,
Teach me humility.
Where there is fear,
Give me Faith.
Where there is rejection,
Grant me Detachment.
When I worry,
Give me Peace.
Where there is Long Suffering
Grant me Patience.
Where I lost pieces of myself along the way,
Grant me the Strength, Endurance, Grit, Perseverance and Wisdom to come back, Stronger, wiser, and more Victorious than Before.
Ase

I defrosted winter just to feel your warmth, bearing the storms so you can transform.
The wind carries my name, but you pay it no mind,
As you live in color while I’m left behind.
Each time I think, maybe it’ll be different, I hold out hope, despite what l’ve witnessed.
Another year goes by-wearing me thin.
My tears drown the earth while you soak it all in.
Beneath your bloom, I rot in silence.
I never knew love could be this violent.
.
.
She loved him so much,
that all of April cried so May could blossom.

Dear Unsealers:

It’s the first day of May.

This feels surreal, given that January felt like it happened a century ago. But four months have now come and gone.

As I do, it’s time to welcome in the new month:

A welcome to May
The fifth month of the year

It feels like a lifetime since January
When I wondered, “Why isn’t the year moving faster?!”

Thirty-one new days are here.
With spring blooming, in full flight

The month to honor mothers
To remember those who gave the last full measure of devotion to the country

It’s a blank slate ahead as another calendar page turns
After a busy April of writing poetry & dancing

With warmer days on the horizon
It’s time to emerge from hibernation.

like a flower
she grows and blooms
nourishing the world around her
she colors the earth
with her petals
reminding you to
take a moment and breathe

she’s wild
and free
just there to be
to be loved
admired
touched
and most importantly
she’s there as a blessing
from mother herself
to show you creation
the divine
how soft yet powerful
you can be

Dear Tarrell,
That night is something I’ll never forget. When you took your own life in front of me, my heart didn’t just break—it exploded. I felt something sacred tear away inside me. I would’ve done anything to stop it, but it was too late. You were gone, and in that moment, a piece of me died with you.
I don’t know how to put into words what it’s been like living without you. That night changed me forever. I can still hear the silence afterward—how loud it was, how final. I keep reliving it. I see your face, your pain, and I wonder why you couldn’t hold on just one more minute. I would’ve held you. I wanted to help you carry the pain.
You were not only my husband, but also my safe place. For the first time, I felt seen, heard, and truly loved. Tarrell, you brought me peace and made life easier, softer—until that night. Now, the world feels cold and hollow without you here.
The kids… God, the kids. You didn’t share their blood, but you gave them your whole heart. You were the father Adalynn had always dreamed of. Thank you for giving her something no one else ever could: the feeling of being wanted, chosen, and protected. She lit up around you. Her heart trusted you in ways I had never seen. The bond you two had—it was rare, beautiful, and real. Egypt adored you, too. She still talks about you and asks where you went. They don’t understand why you would leave us.
Nine months later, and it still feels like yesterday. I will forever hate Mondays and the 15th. We’re in therapy, all of us, and trying to piece ourselves back together. Nothing will ever be the same, and trying to find our new normal has been the biggest struggle for us. I’m not the same. PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks—I carry all of it now.
I know you were hurting. I know you were carrying so much that you couldn’t even find the words to tell me. I also know the Army made you feel you had to be strong all the time. That crying made you weak. That vulnerability was a failure. It never was. Crying, asking for help, falling into my arms—that would’ve been the bravest thing you ever did. I wish you had seen that. I wish you had believed that being emotional didn’t make you any less of a man. If anything, it would’ve made you even more of one.
I would’ve carried every ounce of your pain if it meant keeping you here. I would’ve done anything. You didn’t have to go through it alone. You were never alone. We loved you through it all—flaws, battles, shadows, and all. I just wish love had been enough to save you.
Now I’m left picking up the pieces—with the girls by my side—trying to create a new kind of life in a world I never wanted to know. One without you.
I love you so much. I miss you every second of every day. Tarrell, I always will.
Forever yours,

This gig
This “being my best self” business,
This sunny day after the storm
Is pretty rough.
With wind blown trash from last week
(Or last decade) all over the soul
It is exhausting today, to
Focus on today’s business.

Some other day will be enchanting, Exhilarating,
I’ll be Wonder Woman
Or
Maybe I’ll be just enough, ok?
And putting one foot in front of another will come a little
Easier, next day
Even if Van Der Klok assesses the score and my kind intentions are a bit lopsided today, and my hair;
There will be
Another day
For me.

These conflicting emotions and thoughts always get the best of me and take control. Sinking their teeth into my brain, releasing their venom so it’s always on my mind. I want to just give up and stop trying to take back control. Just give in completely. Let it all go. I’m so tired of trying to hold on and it’s useless anyway. I may or may not have put up a good fight, but the war was fought and the battle is done. It has won. This is the time to surrender and admit defeat.

Prowriting aid style score: 100%

All those years of being trapped by words unable to hear the birds.
All those years of being suffocated to speak unable to reach the highest peak.
All those years of sitting alone waiting to be grown.
Waiting to break free from what was thought to be rock bottom.
All those years of discomfort and uncertainty led me to today,
Full of triumph and determinedly.

Every morning
I thank the little ray of sunshine inside of me.
The one who believed life could still be something extraordinary.
Even when the brutality of the world was enough to gnaw her up & spew her out.
Even when the cliff was right at her fingertips to end it all.

That little ray of sunshine still chose life
& I’m forever in debt with her.
I owe it to her to make something remarkable & gentle of myself.

On the days I’ve succeeded,
I gently put my hand on my heart
& softly speak the words, “this is for you” to her!

Letters Between a Father and Daughte
by Cindy Newcomer
Here is a brief intro for the following letters. My dad died quickly and unexpectedly from cerebral hemorrhage in 1967 at the age of 42. I was two years old at the time and have no conscious memory of him. Very little was ever mentioned about him in our home. To say that my mom was not the nurturing, motherly type is an understatement. Discussing feelings, grief and loss about his death were not a part of life. I was basically left to try to understand the loss and deal with it on my own. Needless to say, I have spent a lifetime with some complicated grief issues. Fast forward to 2015. Russ, my husband of 15 years, my soul mate and my best friend, died suddenly from a massive heart attack. Although I have dealt with many losses in my life, this one hit me hard. Since how we deal with present circumstances is influenced by our past experiences, grief issues with my dad’s death resurfaced. I was challenged to write a letter to my dad and then to write a letter from my dad to me. I have written several letters over the years to my dad but always from a child’s point of view. I decided I wanted to do this from today, as a 52-year-old woman. I must have started the letter over a half a dozen times. I just couldn’t do it. Then one day I was finally able to.
Dear Dad,
I have spent a lifetime thinking about you. Wondering what you would have been like, what our relationship would have been like, what my life would have been like. I would usually imagine what I guess would be almost a parallel universe in which you didn’t die when I was 2. That this is how I have thought of you and us, just dawned on me today. My life is very different because of everything that happened. I really have no idea who I would be or what I would be like had you lived. My life has been an amazing adventure. Some good, some bad – all of it combined to make me, well, me.
I have always been kind of mad because you left and you didn’t take me with you. After a mere 50 years, I think I have gotten over that one. I guess I want to say thank you for creating me. Even though you weren’t around, you did really shape and influence my life. The things I know about you are what I learned from mom, Grammy, some other family members and some of your friends and our neighbors. What I always heard from mom is that you were a hard worker, a hard drinker and went to church every Sunday. Those things became my goals when I was younger. I developed a strong work ethic, I drank like a damn fish and I went to church every Sunday. Even though at this point in my life, I disagree with much of the Catholic doctrine, the influence of the church might be what kept me alive and on this side of prison bars. With you not being around and well, mom being mom, I learned how to be self-reliant, independent, learned how to improvise and problem solve. I learned very early that life isn’t fair. It amazes me that I meet so many people who are adults who still think life should be fair. What the hell is fair??? That may be a lesson that is better learned at a young age. I think it is harder for people to accept when they get older.
During my teen years I really tried to emulate you. I can look back now and see how messed up some of the stuff I did really was. Even when I was in high school, I worked and drank almost every day. I would always make it to church either Saturday night or Sunday morning. Granted, sometimes I was still drunk from the night before. After I graduated I frequently worked two to three jobs. From 18 to 20, it wasn’t unusual for me to work 60 to 70 hours in a week. Damn, would love to have that money again. I would pay mom rent money, then the rest usually got spent on alcohol, drugs, music and cigarettes. Somehow, I think you would have put a boot to my ass for that.
I was told by Grammy and Uncle Lynn that you were the type of man that would help anyone if you could. I have tried to be that way. It has gotten me into some trouble on a few occasions, but I still think it is a good way to live. Grammy also told me that you were direct. When you had something to say, you said it. That one has really bit me in the ass a few times. Discretion is not always my strong suit.
Back to when I was a teen. I knew you had been in the military so I joined the Army Reserves on my 18th birthday. A big part of my motivation to do that was to follow in your footsteps. It wasn’t until many, many years later that Aunt Mary told me that you didn’t really like women being in the military. Oops, sorry. I was just winging it. I didn’t have you to bounce this shit off of.
I can’t imagine how different things would have been and who I would be today without the life I have lived. It isn’t like I can take the parallel universes in which you live and the real world, have them side by side and only pick the good from each one. It would be a cool trick and an awesome science fiction movie, but it isn’t reality. I have two amazing kids. Not sure how you would feel about either of them though. You are from a generation that espoused some old school ideas and values. Their lives fit into more modern-day times of acceptance. They are amazing human beings though and I am so proud of both. They have been through some serious adversity in their lives and they continue to have good hearts and are amazing people. They are both smart, resilient, hardworking, caring, kind and just good people. You have a great granddaughter. She is so adorable. Your great grandson is on the way and is due on July 4th. (Yeah, I know, that is your and mom’s wedding anniversary.)
It is weird. All my life, I have believed that when I die, you and I will be together and I will get to see you. Regardless of all the manifestations of my beliefs in religion and spirituality, and no matter how I define a Higher Power, this has always remained a constant. I don’t even really know what I believe as far as an afterlife. The whole heaven and hell things just confuse me. I don’t know. Even though I don’t know, I still have the childlike vision of you and me hanging out in heaven that kind of looks like a cartoon or a sappy greeting card. I remember when I was younger and a relative said that playing cards was the work of the devil and we were all going to hell. Even then I envisioned us just sitting around a table playing cards in hell. Apparently, the cards we were using were fire-proof. It is weird to think of some of these things as an adult and see them for what they are. Childhood thoughts and fantasies. Even today, I still have a belief that we will be together. I have that wish to be with Russ again, but I don’t have that belief with the same conviction that I do with you. Plus, even though I have lost so many people in my life, you and Russ are the only two that I think that way about.
This is such a new and strange way of thinking. I guess it is more from an adult perspective rather than being stuck with a childlike perspective. Hey, that reminds me, I wrote you a letter one time when I was around 6 or 7. I even put it in an envelope, addressed it to Heaven and rode my bike to the Post Office to mail it. I wonder what I wrote in that.
I love you dad. I love the image of you, the thought of you. I love the thought that you loved me and you wanted me. I have tried to live my life in a way that would make you proud of me. I am sure I let you down a few times. Hopefully though overall, I am a person that you would like, love and be proud to call your daughter.
I love you,
Cindy
Within a few days of writing this letter, I went to a Reiki circle. Now I must clarify that Reiki is such a mystery to me. I have gone probably about a dozen or more times. I still want to be skeptical of it but I have fallen in love with it. The benefits I have received from it have been mind-blowing. Anyhow, I was driving home after the Reiki circle and the letter from my dad to me just started to formulate in my head. When I got back to where I was staying, I put on some music, closed my eyes and just started typing. When I got out of my own way, I was able to receive this letter from my dad.
Dear Cindy,
I never left you. I have been in your heart the whole time. I know that sometimes you are able to feel me there. Other times, you ignore that I am there. My love for my baby girl has never gone away. I didn’t want to leave you, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just my time. I couldn’t take you with me nor would I have wanted to;, you were a baby. Think about it, would you have been willing to take one of your kids along at that young age or even now? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Stop worrying about whether or not I am proud of you. YES, I am proud of you. Do I completely understand you, oh hell no. But then we are from two very different generations. The whole therapy, support group, reiki, meditation, essential oils, I won’t even pretend to understand that shit. I can say that as far as the therapy and support group goes, I guess it isn’t much different than me sitting with my buddies at the bar and talking to the bartender. Just you do it without the beer. Concept is pretty much the same though. Back to me being proud of you. You need to let that shit go. You are a smart, caring, kind person. You help others and keep your door open to anyone who needs a place, a hug or just a place to hang out. Your Grammy was that way too.
You take pride in the fact that so many people have told you that you are a lot like me. I want you to think about that for a minute. The people that you know that are like one of their parents, haven’t they spent a good deal of time butting heads with that parent because they are so much alike? I am sure we would have had our share of that. You can be too bull-headed, stubborn and independent for your own damn good. I am sure I would have booted you in the ass a few times.
It is time you move forward. I know you have missed me and that is ok. But it is time to stop using it as a crutch or an excuse to stay stuck. You are a grown-ass woman at this point. You can’t go back and change the past. Hold onto the stories and the love that I gave you while I was there. You still have it in there; just allow yourself to acknowledge it and feel it. I am a part of you and always will be, just like you are a part of your children. Again, would you want them to suffer and stay stuck about something the way you have over my death? No, I know you wouldn’t. You are a good parent and you love your kids, just like I loved you.
I know that somehow you have rationalized that staying stuck and not letting go is a way for you to remain loyal to me. It isn’t what I want. I want you to heal. Yeah life sucks sometimes, I mean hell, look at what all your Grammy went through. You still whining all these years later about the fact that I died when you were a baby doesn’t do anyone any good. It isn’t showing any sort of loyalty to me. That is your twisted thinking. It is time you let me go. I don’t mean forget about me. Let go of the wish that I was still alive or that I had lived longer. Accept my death for what it is. I loved you with my heart and soul while I was there. Just like you want your kids to carry your love for them in their hearts and souls long after you are gone, the same goes for me.
I will agree with you, it sucks that we didn’t get to spend more time together. But yet again, all the holding on, dreaming, wishing, hoping isn’t going to change the reality of what happened.
Let me go, and move forward with your life. Know that I love you, always have and always will. I am proud of you. You have gone through some shit and yet you still have compassion for others. You are a Bechdel through and through. We are a hearty bunch, strong and resilient. Don’t ever forget that. It is ok to let go. There is no shame in that. I know you aren’t letting go of me and even if you were, I am still not letting go of you. I am still a part of you.
I love you,
Dad

“Do you have any sage advice for me ” my friend asked after we discussed a beautiful solo act of spoken word combined with the playing of the Harp. The talented performer is a woman named Amanda Peckler. I thought about my friends question, taken aback with honor – and a bit of imposter syndrome.

My head spun with the amount of answers I could say; I gave so many answers to his one question, I could not even remember what I said.

“I envy your way of thinking,” he said.

“You admire it, not envy.”

After sincerely crediting my mentors for the ability to think the way I do, I explained:

“Most of the time, we can try what we envy:

Next time you envy someone for their talent, change it to admiration.

Inevitably you are going to struggle the first time; just remember:

Even the advanced were once beginners.

You’ve been my shadow for as long as I can remember, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering doubt, exhaustion, and fear into every crevice of my soul. You’ve made yourself at home in my thoughts, convincing me that stillness is safety, that failure is inevitable, and that I am nothing without you.

But I see you now. I see how you twist my reflection, how you tangle my dreams in barbed wire, how you drag your fingers through my happiness just to watch it unravel. I hear the lies you tell me—that I’m not good enough, that I’ll never change, that I should just give up. And I won’t pretend your voice isn’t loud. It is. Some days, it’s all I hear.

But guess what? I’m still here. I’m still writing, still fighting, still daring to want more than the prison you’ve tried to build around me. You’ve stolen too many moments, too many dreams, too many days where I could have felt joy but instead felt only your weight pressing down on my chest.

So, I’m making something clear today: You don’t get to win.

I won’t say you’re gone, because I know you’re always lurking. But I will say this—I am learning to live around you, despite you, and in defiance of you. Every time I write, every time I create, every time I move forward even when you’re clawing at my ankles, I am reclaiming myself.

You are not me. You are something I carry, something I battle, but you do not define me.

I do.

And I choose to keep going.

Sincerely,

Me

Can you see the sway of my hips,
how they speak to the beat of these drums?
Can you hear the rhythm—
the language of our silence,
unspoken words rising like smoke?

I build bridges over rivers of oppression,
each step a prayer,
each twirl a testimony.

With the swing of my skirt,
I sweep away the struggles of women like me—
bold, bruised,
but never broken.

We are complex,
layered like rhythms in the night.
Not just survivors,
but storytellers with sacred fire in our feet.

We arrived in chains,
yet even in bondage,
we birthed grace.
White dresses flow—symbols of peace,
clarity,
and the breaking of curses
tied to spirits lost in new lands.

Oh, when I hear that rhythm,
it stirs my soul.
Something ancient rises,
something wild and free.
We dance ‘til the moon forgets to rest—
laughin’, shoutin’,
spinnin’ rebellion into joy.

This is resistance.
This is remembrance.
This is us.
A dance of rebellion is here.

Dear Unsealed,

What Do I Fear?
I fear the lack of personal contact,
This time of year, we lack
The touch of humanity.
I fear being old.
But that must be.
I am old, bold.
I fear losing social security,
Fear of losing my healthcare,
Literally please be aware.
I fear the things that aid old people who are our elders.
That assist those of advanced age,
Will be hi-jacked and stolen by mean people,
Who plan to take over our living stage at old age
Control us,
Minimize old people,
The disabled, and others,
Shove us off as if we don’t matter to others.
To fear is normal,
Fearing is cool,
Fear is formal.
Fear is me,
Afraid of lying fools.
Being reluctance to talk,
Fear is how to talk,
Fear is being unable to walk
Even a short distance,
For instance.
To fear is true blue,
Fear is tolerating the ultra-conservative fool.
Fear is so many things in 2025.
I am an empath,
A dreamer, psychic.
I do not carry wrath,
But observe others,
Quietly,
Around my psyche.
I fear being homeless,
fearing is being without work,
to fear is being old, bold, and careless.
Fear is losing all benefits.
Fear is being hungry.
A list of fears is so boring and long,
asunder.
One’s a fool to think they care.
The fool,
The leaders plan a dire dismissal
Of whom they dislike.
Spiteful, they cause chaos
In everyone’s life.
So, I will write.
Not out of spite,
But to release feelings of the night,
To spread light through the day.
Faith keeps me strong.
I tackle fear with music and song,
Visual art,
No farts.
I carry on,
Despite my fear of judgment,
By people who do not care.
I fear falling into their snares,
Of lairs rotting in their lion’s dens
Of inequity and warped sin.
I fear nothing but fear itself.
Once a prolific phrase,
It spread fear itself.
Doublespeak is a chaos nightmare.
This fear.
It makes me aware.
The silver screen of life surrounds us all.
I am awake.
I see the lies of mean people.
Make no mistakes.
Their rules are tools
For their brains,
Insane.
I am awake.

100 percent score

Sixty paces—the distance between the wear marks on the porch windowsill
to the stone coping beneath the cherry blossoms.

From cold, wet nose kisses, punctuated by toe taps,
to the pungent pansies that now adorn his earthly bed.

Four feet—forty-eight inches—the space from his head to my lap.

Yet—when I close my eyes, I’m met by his tender gaze.
I feel the weight of his head, the damp jowls,
the velvet of his coat against my skin.

His warmth—lifting the weight of the day.

A kindred spirit, whose friendship I never questioned.

Sixty paces—a heart-rending farewell,
and a heartfelt hope: “I’ll be seeing you.”

Dear Unsealers:

It’s Easter Sunday.

For those that celebrate the day, I hope that it’s an enjoyable day for you. I hope that everyone has a wonderful Sunday, no matter where in the world you are.

Here’s to the hope and possibility after the lenten season has concluded.

With a nod to the Urbi et Orbi message from the Pope in Rome, this is my message from NYC to the world:

After forty days of Lent
Easter Sunday has arrived

A day to celebrate
The rising of the son of God

With euphoric joy in the holiest spirit
We praise all that life brings

With the world blooming all around
Everything’s possible!

From me to you and yours
From NYC to the world…

Happy Easter!
¡Felices Pascuas!

Pazko on!
Bona Pasqua!

Joyeuses Pâques!
Buona Pasqua!
Cásca Shona!

Feliz Páscoa!
Καλό Πάσχα!
Sretan Uskrs!

Mary Jane got me ohh so high,
Your genetics done changed my life.
I thank God to this very day, for
Another peaceful night, for word play.
You’ve done evolved my DNA.
Oh how I love your,
Potent indica dominant strains.
Sparks the receptors, as I search
To put these words in place.
Oh how I love your vibrant fragrance.
I love how help me through,
The stressful day’s.
Got neurons flooding
My brain. Looking for and
Connecting different things to say,
You spark my imagination.
Opening up a variation of
Ways. When I was hurt
You helped me innovate.
Had to do this for a special occasion.
Was built off some chronic
Mixed in with a Lil pain.
A different meaning
For “chronic pain”.
Might have to get a prescription
Just to keep me sane.
Had to celebrate your holiday.
Happy 4-20 it’s a special day.

This life… is but a vapor… without a second thought you’d capture the moment by taking a pen to your wrist…
And letting your heart bleed out on the paper….
Inspiration, devastation, any other proclamation…
Yet trying to write now just feels like forced dedication…
What happened to that fire? That desire? It’s like our pen has dried up, and the situations dire
What happened to the endless words rattling around that drove us to the brink of insanity?
What happened to the ability to tug at the heartstrings of humanity?
People used to say that what we wrote felt so real…
But it’s because your words expressed our heart unsealed…
All our pain, all our anguish,
Every unfulfilled wish
Even as we traversed from glory to glory,
Your words expressed our story
Yet stressed here I am
Trying to string together words that don’t mean a damn thing
There’s no voice, there’s no heart…
How can I read what I write now, and try to say that it’s art?
Posting poems from the past, but how long can that last?
I am not you, and I fear that our time together is through…
Like how were you able to write an entire poem from being hit by a droplet of dew?
You could put one hundred and ten poems inside of a book
All to tell one story, simply from its tones alone;
All our highs and our lows
Our joys, and our woes…
But I’m sitting here now like, “is this as far as it goes?”
Have I nothing more than this?
Here I stand at my precipice
Grasping at the wind beyond my reach
With eyes like an ocean, til they burn red
Rivers of dread flow, as I shake and I quiver
Each drop crashes like a tsunami atop this wilted rose I hold in my hand
The petals have been washed away… no beauty remains
Only the thorns buried beneath my flesh, tearing at my very soul
I never would’ve thought writing so much could take such a toll
To break through, I know not what I need
My heart… has run out of blood to bleed…
There’s no path ahead…
Nothing to say that I haven’t already said…
Here I stand at the ledge… ready to lunge…
Ready to take that fateful plunge…
Embracing the free fall…
As I give up on writing anything at all…

But yet in this moment the wind gives its gust
With a gentle whisper it tells me, “trust”
“Walk by faith and not by sight.
There’s no reason for you to be filled with fright.
Take the step and be full of delight.
Harken unto Me, and what I declare.
For together we will dance across the air.
The words that have been shrouded in the clouds will again shine their light.
The voice you seek will soon echo aloud.
Sending ripples, causing waves,
Causing dead bones to rattle in their graves.
Testifying of the One by whom mankind shall be saved.
This isn’t the end of your story.
For I have chosen you to write of Our coming glory.”

Lo! That mercy would look upon my tired eyes
That the winds of heaven would hear my frustrated cries
With no blood left to bleed…
No might, nor power left within myself to carry me through this hour
But by Thy Spirit, I will continue to fight
By Thy Spirit I will continue to write for any who shall hear it
For Thy testimony is my delight
Lo! This shall not be my end
I’m trusting that higher yet I shall ascend
So let ye joyful trumpets sound in celebration
For the shackles and chains of this writer’s block I refuse to succumb
Yay! I say I shall be unbound
I’ll let this Spirit fueled heart beat like a drum of liberation
Pounding with a “bum-bum-de-bum”
This burning sensation shut-up deep in my bones;
Words yet without form… groaning’s waiting to be born
As the tumultuous storm clouds clear… their image draws near…
I can see them…
At last…
I am free…
This weightlessness…
Unburdened by stress…
Yes… I can feel it deep in my core…
If I take this step… I know I shall soar
I shall waltz on the wind, as a sparrow in the daytime
As a spider with its web, I’ll weave these words into rhymes
I’ll mold them into the most lustrous silk
And their taste shall be sweeter than honey and more nutritious than milk
No longer shall I live in fear that I’ll never be the writer you were again
The rose petals of this pen will bloom once more
And now I sit in anticipation to see what creations are in store…
Indeed… this blocks been broken through
For my passions been born anew