I’ve spent countless hours of my life thinking and brooding,

Considering the complexities of my past relations.

And it is during these times, with my emotions moving,

Which cause more oft than not unsightly ruminations.

 

It wasn’t long before I found myself spiraling into a dimensional rift

Where clarity and sanity were no different from their contraries.

And as my judgment clouded, shrouded by passion (at once a gift),

I became concerned because these ventures were involuntary.

 

Thoughts, which led me down roads of self-doubt.

I could feel myself losing touch with reality.

Thoughts, which led me through emotional clout.

I could feel myself slipping into depravity.

 

I learned it best to vent out all these unwanted views,

And that is how I begun to cogitate in rhyme and rhythm.

Because never are emotions and thoughts easier removed

Than when relinquished through artful symbolism.

 

And so the reason I write has been one of self-reflection.

If all my pain and sorrow brings light to another soul,

All my deepest, darkest thoughts and introspection,

Perhaps on the morrow, I will feel less pain taking hold.

 

It’s in poetry that I have most often find

The passion of both heart and mind collide,

Inside the timidity of a line and its rhyme.

And that is when catharsis rolls in like the tide.

 

A sense of closure for these open wounds.

A sense of purpose for those experiences.

A sense of humanity inside thoughts impugned.

It gives my mind rest from all its weariness.

 

The gift of life is nothing more than a commodity,

Unless it is lived with purpose and meaning.

So it is most assuredly no oddity,

That when I write its purpose is a soulful preening.