There used to be less life in my paper

A split between my spirit and my text

More frustration over my pent up self

And the fog that was my identity

See as time’s streams carried me I

Have dipped my toes compulsively

As to measure just how much I

Miss and pass and lose and forget

So I rushed my writing

Void of my persona

Unaware that it was

I who was chasing me

Then I took halt

Broke down my thought

In my effort

To relearn my

Passion

Power

Patience

And I relit

Emerged in bloom

Resonated

Yet kept such pace

What I am now after

May not be in crystal

But on paper I am

And persist to be so

Writing with these segments of mine

Provides the clearest translation

For the abstractions within my

Brain and heart and soul and being

What I have learned from the poet’s practice

Is to pace my thoughts with some gentleness

And for what little that had taken me

Will promote the growth of an expressed mind