Good morning, friends. I think that I will call you “soulmates” on Sundays. Good morning, soulmates. Sundays are usually the most popular day here on the blog. I love that you all are open to poetry. I love that you have helped me to rediscover the poet in me. I hope that you have also discovered (or rediscovered) the poet, in you, as well. Sundays are devoted to the emotional, sometimes non-sensical, mysterious spillage of words called poetry. Please explore the poem which I have written for today, and please also, feel comfortable and safe to share your poems in my Comments section. It has been wonderful sharing this moment with you on this lovely, tranquil day, my beloved soulmates. I look forward to many more connecting moments with you. Peace.
Keeper of the Words
Sometimes the words spill out of me and I can’t contain them.
Depending on how forceful and projectile the emotion is behind them,
The words scramble desperately to find their way on to the screen,
quicker than I can type them into visual form.
Sometimes the words slide out of me and surprise me,
I had no inner rumination of their simmering pot in my conscience.
The words leave me, before I even knew that they were with me.
Sometimes I have no words. I have nothing to write.
Nothing. My inner cache is empty. And that is okay.
When I have nothing to write, it clears the space,
Until the words accumulate again, to fill the void,
As they always do.
The words don’t require my participation,
They only ask for the keys to release them.
When the pressure mounts and the time is ripe,
I generously allow the words to flow out.
I am not the jailer of the words,
I am only their keeper.
Jailers suffocate and diminish and intimidate,
Keepers nurture and protect and trust in growth,
And further, keepers innately know when it is time,
to let their beloved charges fly free.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.