May 8, 2018



Been slow to write as of late, unmotivated... uninspired.
Decided to sit tonight, and try to weave out some words.

I no sooner wrote and sent this first poem, when this blinding light hit from the bedroom, and rolled down the stair.

I think I got my sign, so I wrote a second. 🖊📝

"Your voice, held still
from inside-out
it cries... misplaced
but carries no sound.

You need a sign, to recognize
that thirst...
that made you a poet.

You wonder, if you'll know it."


"Just then, without warning
that sign... slants over your soul
you enter in, through open pane.

Causing you to believe
there's reason... to write, again." 

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