Writing to process life and its surprises,
joys and sadness
Does not come easy. I ponder all day what I’d say about this or that but once I sit down
Neither one seem to be accessible or
To coincide into something of even mediocre value or purpose.
I'm either neck deep in contemplating, praying, worshipping, venting
In process in my heart
Or trying to write from my brain loaded with soccer schedules, homework, and menus!
No wonder my
Words up to brow full!
Spilling them out as fast as I can, off-loading the dimensions and angles of my head and heart
So a breath can come, steady now, pacing myself the best I can while twenty six
Letters run fast out my fingers but it seems the
Words come out slow, wandering as if they had all day to form.
Daily they pull me like a vortex sucking me into paragraphs of life
Drawing me in - webs of complexity and transparency combined
Then out to type, tips of fingers touching, clicking, releasing
Prose from my soul.
I long to camp, pitch my tent and stay
Here for a while, resting and clicking and
Letting sentences escape their cramped quarters in my head. It seems they slosh about and as I set them free they are
Drenching the page with outpourings of hope and joy tangled with pain and challenge.
Boys unattended bring me back to the sturdy ground of grunts, yelps and squawks. They
Make their own mischief when I climb into my word worlds but I am okay with the
Evening routine paused for a few stolen moments
So I can pour out the process I’m in.
Does not come easy. I ponder all day what I’d say about this or that but once I sit down
Neither one seem to be accessible or
To coincide into something of even mediocre value or purpose.
I'm either neck deep in contemplating, praying, worshipping, venting
In process in my heart
Or trying to write from my brain loaded with soccer schedules, homework, and menus!
No wonder my
Words up to brow full!
Spilling them out as fast as I can, off-loading the dimensions and angles of my head and heart
So a breath can come, steady now, pacing myself the best I can while twenty six
Letters run fast out my fingers but it seems the
Words come out slow, wandering as if they had all day to form.
Daily they pull me like a vortex sucking me into paragraphs of life
Drawing me in - webs of complexity and transparency combined
Then out to type, tips of fingers touching, clicking, releasing
Prose from my soul.
I long to camp, pitch my tent and stay
Here for a while, resting and clicking and
Letting sentences escape their cramped quarters in my head. It seems they slosh about and as I set them free they are
Drenching the page with outpourings of hope and joy tangled with pain and challenge.
Boys unattended bring me back to the sturdy ground of grunts, yelps and squawks. They
Make their own mischief when I climb into my word worlds but I am okay with the
Evening routine paused for a few stolen moments
So I can pour out the process I’m in.
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