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Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Writing to myself from the future

Future Perfect

Never really a conscious choice,
how nice it was to find a voice,
rough edges rounded, made more smooth
by words which heal, thoughts that sooth.
“This – or better” was my creed,
simple tools all I’d need,
writing of grief and love and joy,
like a child with a toy.
Who could know what lay before,
beyond the walls, the open door.
First one chapbook, then some others,
enjoyed by poets, sisters, brothers.
A blog which gained more fans, more eyes,
some laurels too, to my surprise.
What fun it was to turn each page,
as decades brought me to this age.
My heart against all pain defends,
grateful for poetic friends.

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