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Personal Note:
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Poem
I am a creature like others, taking for granted each breath,
making mistakes, some no amount of contrition can erase
which makes my faults no less dismal than death.
Unless by the mercy of my Creator, I am to be forgiven.
Perhaps I can best define myself as God's spark as a poet.

I am a wanderer when I write of where I've been
and in tales of woe when long ago I buried myself in sin.
I am on display revealing why I lost my wings in dreams 
and why I've wept for love that faded like moon beams.
There's a timeless spiritual energy in penning such things.

I am the voice of my heart, embracing its inner goodness,
allowing it to heal through bleeding when it suffers, 
and to beat like timpani drums with happiness.
Within me, poetry denies bearing a name.
It's akin to having unquestionable faith in God, 
knowing His words have the power to soothe my soul.
His blessing is ever a righteous honor that I would laud.

I am the wielder of a pen. Poems die at my hands, 
eyes cry for Sonnets, and every abandoned verse. 
Guilt, the emotion flowing inside of me, and...
the way I feel when I fall asleep before ending a prayer.
There are parts of my flawed humanity that need repair
and the reason I fear He will not forgive my trespasses. 
Do the words I toss away feel as imperfect
as I think I am in my Father's eyes?

I am the Shrew, untamed, the one who bore witness 
to the sun's heartache for loving the moon.
I compose words in a magical language that tell
that life can be lived eternally in lines of script 
instead of being thrown into the infernal pit of hell
or decaying in a sepulcher crypt.

I am a sword, fighting battles that should've never been.
What worth are spoils to victors if none are left standing?
With my pen I am a crack in the mirror of vanity, 
or perhaps the vein of insanity that I try to keep hidden.
I am hope, trying to break the thread of reality.

I am me, trying to transcend space and time in poetry.
Feed me ink and I will write.  Give me parchment and
I will fill sheafs with what emanates from inside of me 
for I am a poet of love and light and poetry is my clothing.
But know that without poetry I will be found loathing.
If it's taken away from me, then bare naked I will be.
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