It’s been a moment since I’ve written a poem.
A moment’s longwinded breathe, that’s taken a few years to exhale.
A memory that lingers nostalgia from toxic ink stained pages. A tint that’s lingered despite the turning of chapters. So, I’ve bought a new book.
Happy. A first step in the soil of spring, signaling change and new beginnings. The dead, composted into fresh growth.
The season’s in bloom, I stop to smell the tulips.
The storms have left my pen oxidized over the years, but like the tin man.. I’ll need only a little oil to get moving and to find my heart.
It was with me all along.
People drink to drown their sorrows, but every time I drink I cry and think of you. The warm fuzzy glow reminds me of your embrace… the bitter tannins remind me of your exit.
The feelings I buried deep down within myself, the soil turns to mud and past wounds resurface, with ironic clarity…
like a body from a ship that won’t take shore…a feeling rocky. Steering clear from icebergs, I decided to chill out.
This is just a piece of me that I’m never quite ready to let go.
To let go. I need to let go… I will when I’m ready.
But, blood ties.. blood runs thicker than water and thinner with wine.
So I tie an anchor and it all sinks back down to the depths below.
I sober up.
