From the Writer

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.