I’ve been writing my poetry for some time, ever since someone mistakenly called me a poet. I replied, No, I’ve never penned a poem in my life, then sat down and began to write. I haven’t stopped since.

Looking back at some of the things I’ve written, I feel it’s time to give them light. So here you are, word patterns, woven from threads of my mind.

Pathways

We walk the edge of the abyss,

fragile as moth wings

but with a phoenix heart.

Suicide

The day Vivian ended her life,

I visited her.

She gave me paper birds,

concerned they would be tossed away

when she was gone.

Highway

Dreams linger

at the edge of my consciousness

like scenes in my peripheral vision

as I speed down a road;

when finally in the rear-view mirror

I register their importance,

they are already lost.

Hide

Can I duck out the back

of this hectic life,

into the shadows

of another day?

Spring-fresh air

and silence so profound

as to be a symphony.

Goodbye

It still comes

with the shock of a cut finger

sliced by a sharp knife,

deep and acute.

Or slashed by a dull blade,

ragged and hurting.

The memory of loss.

Revelation

For a while

in my dream

I was safe.

It’s not my home that is dangerous-

it’s my head.

Anxiety

Why?

If this moment

feels so perfect,

do I dread

the next?

Just Another Day

Choosing to be weak

I turn from the light,

from what I know,

from what I’ve been told,

from what I’ve learned is true,

from God?

Choosing to be strong

I pick up and move on,

toward the light,

the day,

the goal,

the work

even if it’s hard,

if it doesn’t go far,

one step ahead is enough.

I rest,

given what I need

to corral my anxious mind.

Sometimes it doesn’t work;

sometimes it does.