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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I have to turn back the clock of time- the pages of my life, to when I was just a little girl who already knew all about death; it had left me shattered and I just decided not to speak, I heard everything said to me but I was locked in a silent place. My parents took me to a doctor and he said, "she is traumatized." You see, I had watched my sister die, her blood seeping into the street; and I became silent, soon I was sent to stay with Grandma, and Grandpa on their farm, oh I loved my attic room and the animals. I would sit in that attic room and make up stories in my head, for hours and hours, then one day Grandma came and sat on my bed; she gave me a journal and pen and said, "write your pain, write it, dear one, write it all down!" And so I did from that day on. I wrote what I could not say and Grandma would read it out loud, with tears she would hug me and encourage me to write each day; and thus a poet was born- Grandma was always my inspiration, she was the family storyteller and I would listen to her for hours. Mom would say," you know she has told that story a hundred times, and it always changes, so don't believe it my dear!" But I did not care; then one day, I spoke, "mommy can I have more toast?" I think Grandma and Mom just about fell off their kitchen chairs in shock. And I wrote and wrote- many a journal has been put on a shelve, many a poem has been penned, and all because of my Grandma; at her funeral, I wrote the eulogy and stood trembling, then a great breeze took my papers away- yet I spoke in a strong voice. I believe in that moment, Grandma reached out her hand and gave me courage; and I have felt that hand reaching out many times. _____________________________ December 24, 2016 Poetry/Narrative/Inspiration Came Early Copyright Protected, ID 16-860-606-0 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
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