Photo by Radu Florin on Unsplash

Of the source

I have a journal. I don’t write in it every day, just when I have a thought I want to save. From one of those thoughts, I pulled these lines. The original poem is longer and different from this, but the thrust is the same — the dialogue one has with oneself through writing. It is a monologue dialogue, an exchange of things nonetheless. It’s rhyme. Many editors have no time for rhyme (there it is again). But rhyme is rhythm, and rhythm is song, and song is pattern, and pattern is what we are.

The Poem

There’s nothing to see here
take your time,
whatever that means
Now’s the moment to coin,
a line or a word from where unknown
A thought, a story, a poem

Reaching inside bringing that to here
An abstract thing with little to give
of its own, without your hand, without your thought
feeling too, from that thou ought
in the face of pain or death and many more
come here release from life’s tiresome chore

Thanks for taking the time to read my stuff. Every morning you’ll find me sharing a new thought on life, art, work, creativity, the self and the nature of reality on The Reflectionist. I also write on The Creative Mind. If you like what I’m creating, join my email list to receive the weekly Sunday Letters