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 friendís poems,
Her vocabulary oft as unfamiliar as Jeroboamís.
Yet, I understood what her therapist meant,
Writing is therapy when you use it to lament.
Too many siblings for comprehension,
Didnít leave time for personal attention.
Only one thing I could do right,
If I wrote a poem, theyíd think Iím bright.
Sharing negative feelings didnít 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, Ďcuz 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.
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