Stacks of journals on the floor.
Piles of pages of insight.
Filtering back through time.
finding old threads and grasping.
Reliving the passion and dusty emotions.
Turning more pages, back deeper and deeper.
Crawling into the layers.
Finding unfinished songs.
Isolate lines of short poems – other times prose,
…wandering and long.
Mixed in with faded-pencil,
Entries from the brightest of sunny days,
and the sheer darkest of nights.
Pieces of insight…
What a gift to sit back and relive yesterday’s passions,
And, holding space daily,
for my future aspirations.
Flipping through the pages of ink
intricately crossing lines.
Watching the pen be driven
by my heart’s passionate designs.
Presently filling more pages is testament to the flowing…
…a testament to gratefully-gracefully growing.