We Begin When We Are Sad

We begin when we are sad
and disconnected from the world,
when all we can express is inadequate
to explain the darkness that gnaws
to the bone our isolated hearts,
when the spark that drives us
is the only song
in the gloom of the moment.

We journey then through
the tear-filled valley of our souls,
disregarding the rains of passion
that mire our feet in despair,
disregarding the mud of anguish
that cakes us when we must crawl up
the slope of grief and torment
along the passageway of creation.

We look straightforward, resolute,
unable to glance side to side
lest our feet stray from the appointed
path of our self-imposed exile,
ignoring the possibilities for the joy
we pass along the way,
ignoring the wonders that might
cause another to pause and reflect.

It is a journey not to attain excellence,
it is a journey not to garner awards or praise.

It is a journey to merely record
in such an honest fashion
that another can view our poems and say

“Yes, I have been there; yes, now I understand…”

And when we have finished
we arrive home to warm the chill of our thoughts
by the fireplace of our loved ones’ care

until the time when we once again find

that we are sad and disconnected from the world.