As a child, a teen
I swam in tears of trauma
until my spirit rebelled
at the drowning line.
Chasing last place
in a swamp filled
with tossed stones
Poe taught me to breathe
with pen and paper.
Through a pinhole in a nightmare
words bled into light and
I began to feel fledgling freedom.
In April’s month of words I hear
the child, the adolescent sing of roots
and crows and know even if the ink is bleak
it lights another candle to dispel my darkness.
Comments
with pen and paper.
Lovely! light a candle in the darkness...