My poems are a map to my soul—
a twisting road to thoughts undiscovered.
With each word I write, each truth uncovered,
I stumble a bit closer to the whole.
I embark each day, not knowing where—
just following the road is all that matters.
Sometimes I’m saving elephants, or flowers,
or revealing fears I thought no longer there.
What truths and fears are those? The truth of grief,
the dark mystery spoken by the wind,
that right around the corner is the end,
that children grow and leave, and life is brief.
I’m in this for the trip—not the arrival—
to destinations I have yet to know.
I delve into the landscape of a soul
carved in part by struggle and survival.
With paper white as cloud, and rhyme antique,
I chart the trip and map the unknown deep.