it's screaming at me; "start writing!"
just put down the words
that do
and don't
make sense
shift this cloud
never mind what they say
like you've minded
forever
prick this boil
the sun will come
the newness that only a short time ago
was there
will spring out at you again
like spring
like the flower
like the daughter's laughter
that seems shrouded
in a curtain of fear
so familiar
that its cover
won't lift
from a life full of memory
patterned by just a few short events
that painted a soul that was pure

"just write" the voice now softly commands
as if knowing that the screams go nowhere
but to remind of the howling
of twisted emotion encountered from others
with their own set of trials
that beset them a stagger
as they crashed into you
and you into them
like we were the perpetrators
of each other's cold, saddest nights
while we yearn for the days
that will take this pain away
or at least soften
so that light can be shed
into the process of healing
that is now vital
to embrace the human toil
wipe blood from the brows
of billions
and quietly pray
for the day

"try writing" the voice now gently whispers