A poised question is staring me down with a poignant wondering  

Like a blistering sun scorching the desert

I am the cactus blossom thriving at the end

And beginning of my own existence

The tapping of the keys beneath my fingers

Frantic scribbling of the pencil in class

That Vast white sheet of empty space on the screen

Bland white spaces between those crisp blue lines

They beg me to place a sentiment

Outline and patented into the spaces there

The letters sitting next to each other

Form the delicate image of a flower swaying in the light breeze

Or they show gratitude flying forth from the tongue of a grateful serpent

The variations and differences, all the endless possibilities

There is so much for my mind to flood onto the pages

Poems that have been struck on the nerves by Inspiration

Muses playing in their plots, planting along the outline’s edges of those stories

I write to live, to survive

The drive sprung up from the grave of my mother

And sprinkled with the inspiration of divorce and disease

Medicines gone now leave shells of bitter memories

Young and lost but driven and dreaming

I write to reach into the pail of hope

Littering it, intentionally, grinding it up into healthy soil

For others to sprinkle their hearts into to see the magic it will sprout

The world is a puzzle and we are the pieces

But some are broken and lost, don’t know how to fit

I’ve been there and gotten through

Climbed the mountain and fell onto

The desert floor of these vast mountains, now a land that I call home

And I am here to bring the light

To show the others home is waiting for them too

The tapping of the keys mirrors the beating of my heart

The scribbling on the pages, my life in the making

I am a writer, a poet,

And why is answered on the pages.