“Nothing’s Written.”

It was a cold winter morning.
With nothing but white to see.
It was a time for reflection.
I had nothing except my creativity.
So armed with pen and paper.
I started to confront my destiny.

Too often in life we ignore.
Those few who mean us well.
Many times we simply turn away.
Ending up within our own hell.
The process is slow, nothings written.
So I started. The strokes fell.

After I wrote a few letters.
The words just started to flow.
I suddenly was thinking of you.
Finally my heart was letting go.
Of what I held deep within.
I will now share what’s known.

Speaking part:
“The River Still Flows”
Solitudes are like thoughts without sleep. No one is at peace, since none shall capture nor keep.
Light rises with the dawn off into the distance. Perception misperceptions hear the carrion call.
Since my death at 12 I have been reborn. Dear Lady, dear Lady I have heard your call.
I am here, I am near, “The River Still flows”. I am as the rain saturating your soil.
In time your seeds shall grow. “We die more than once in life. I have done so more often than most.”

I was healing now very slowly.
Sharing what I concealed in past.
This piece does indeed mark you.
But the die had been cast.
You’re in the arms of another.
I truly ended up finishing last.