I used to write a lot of poetry when I was in high school. It was a form of therapy for me. I think writing is therapeutic for a lot of people. There’s something about getting our demons out on paper that helps to heal.
I went years barely writing anything and never writing poetry. But the last few years my muse has come back, or at least the need to put my feelings in words. Some days are just bad. Some days I lose hope, and I feel worthless. I try not to stay there. I think getting the words out still helps. It helps me process, and it helps me heal and move on.
Shroud and Shadow
I look out the window,
hoping to find you pulling into the driveway.
Every hum of a car engine I hear
makes my heart jump.
Even though I know you’re not coming,
I still wait for a knock on the door,
still imagine opening it to see you standing there,
surprising me like you have before.
They say, “All good things must come to an end.”
I didn’t believe them.
You made me believe anything was possible.
But as day turns to night,
casting its shroud of darkness,
I wonder if I, too, must fall
and remain in shadow—