I am not a poet
I don’t know how to string words together in a way
that even death sounds beautiful.
I am full of disjointed phrases
that when you put them together
you want to look away.
We danced too early
Sometimes my sadness leaks out for no apparent reason
The broken pieces of my heart have been put together again
but there are pieces missing
And sometimes the missing pieces are bigger than the whole
I have a quiet place inside of me where I find peace
That is where I meet my Maker
But sometimes I cannot find the way
There are days when I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel
because I only see walls.
So there it is:
I am not a poet
I only have disjointed phrases
But each one carries an image of it’s own
like broken pieces in a mirror
held together by it’s frame
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