From the Writer
Location
The passion is God given
But hidden...
Until a peak of blue grey above a hill was ridden,
In early morning commutes.
It burst – the makings – like swollen paint,
Splattering the insides of a heart
Filled with the desire to write what I see.
Thus on paper (viciously scribbled before forgotten),
Became sculpted –
By a teacher of my tenth year.
An expert mind; a furnace for the imperfections.
The gift, stripped of its coarseness, reshapes;
Inspired by the hills of home melts into a frosted winter window,
Dripping into an epic, cascading into forests, then writhing from the heat of a sorrowed love…
Until, falling into a string of words, are hung up to represent a greater purpose.
I write what I see,
What I learn,
I take each idea like a picture, and recapture it in words for the reader.
Dear reader, do you like what you see?
The yearn, too deep for shallow water
Must be driven under,
To a world beautifully obscure,
To a place all my own.
Truly, I am found in poetry.