This poem was first published on Faithwriters on Jan 15, 2007.
"Your poetry has saved your life
From the pain of your childhood strife.
Suicide you may have committed,
If to this writing form you had not submitted."
I did not always understand my friend’s poems,
Her vocabulary oft as unfamiliar as Jeroboam’s.
Yet, I understood what her therapist meant,
Writing is therapy when you use it to lament.
Too many siblings for comprehension,
Didn’t leave time for personal attention.
Only one thing I could do right,
If I wrote a poem, they’d think I’m bright.
Sharing negative feelings didn’t fair well,
So on paper, my pains I learned to tell.
But if someone discovered my journal,
My life at home became infernal.
So my poem topics turned to worse
As I learned to journal in verse.
Though my message may be tragic,
They would like it, ‘cuz poetry was magic.
I made it through hard times,
By writing simple rhymes.
Mourning when my grandpa died,
A poem of memories while I cried.
I got through life with an alcoholic,
By writing poems that were symbolic,
Or straight-forward and to the point.
Whatever way my pain I could disjoint.
Eventually my poems gave way,
To a Friend who was here to stay.
By my side through think and thin,
He died on the cross because of my sin.
My pains I no longer need to hide,
Their sword also pierced His side.
My writing took a long vacation
While I learned about salvation.
Now I feel called to create,
And this call cannot wait.
Whether it a poem or story,
I need to write it for His glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment