I’m sitting on this wooden porch
fingers tapping on keys.
Leaving all of the parts of my naked soul
as evidence on this page.
The wind is lazily finding its way
through the leaves upon the trees.
Rocking them slowly back and forth
as it they were part of my dreams.
It is quiet, mostly, but the seabirds sing
and the squirrels are out on their hunt.
I am perched on this deck, in this chair
letting the words simply come.
I am trying to write you away, you see
trying to let the stories tell themselves.
Let the words weave the tale as it happened
without having a point of view.
But I can’t seem to speak without a voice
or in a voice that is not my own.
I only know what happened to me
and that is where my story begins.
I may write the chapters out of order
because it ended before it began.
What started out as the tale of a lifetime
will forever be just a few pages long.
Contained in those pages are all of the elements
to hold the reader rapt.
But I am still wrapped in the throes of the tale
and cannot tell it quite clearly yet.
So in pictures and flashes and moments
I will unveil the lessons I’ve learned.
I will release the heartbreak and fill the pages
of a story that must be told.