I squint my eyes, As I look for direction,

I’m on my terrace,
I search for inspiration.
It’s been so long,
Since pen found paper,
There’s all that rust,
Everything was at rest.
I’m never reluctant,
For I do this for her,
This bright soul I know,
For her I bow.
These words flow easy,
Though their meaning scares me,
This gift I perceive,
A curse it longs to be.
My thoughts wander,
To the one I lost,
Am I doing right by her,
A faint memory that remains.
A voice starts to echo,
One I know too well,
It’s a voice that’s one day mine,
My father’s tones seek mine.
As I walk back,
My mind’s a mess,
What I’ve asked for,
Is it something I should get?
I read what I’ve wrote,
Ramblings I quote,
The words show meaning,
No other can be seeing.
These writings show,
What the writer’s soul knows,
This I believe,
There’s no choice. I leave …


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