I started writing because
I thought I was…
I was told
I was good at it.

But with age time got away
from me–
Words tumbled around
never striking the page
just right.

Rip after rip
it seemed simpler
to let my pen collect

I scribbled
again when my peace
was stolen. Replacing
physical movement with pen strokes.

Being brave once
more, sending my work
out to the voulters–

Returned encased in gold.