To write is to reclaim life,
The good, the bad,
The sweet, the ugly,
The power and the impotence,
The magnificence and the burning doubts.
To love it all
It is to know ‘it’ isn’t out there
In movies
In your child’s eyes
Or your lover’s arms
But in you.
Trust the voice inside
The one that whispers like a feather
Or yells in the middle of the night
“Let me out! I have to speak!
Hear me or I’ll die – we both will.”
Listen,
Let it out onto the page,
Yes, the child inside filled with tears.
The ancient being you never knew existed,
The one that sounds like your grandmother
Let her speak
You must.
She is your soul
Thank her for your gift,
Let it write you.
© Melba Burns, 2012