I’m not righting

About the write things

It’ll take courage

I need to dig for.

Things inside covered

Under lock and key,

I got a glimpse last week

It nearly smothered me.

Strangled, driven to tears

By the sorrow in myself.

Key broke off in the lock

No going back now.

Maybe that’s why

I’ve many empty journals,

Pages waiting to give shape

To things I’m unwilling to admit.

Stagnant water feeds nothing

I’ll never grow like this,

I’ll age in a day

An unnaturally creased child.

So please grant me bravery

To look into the mirror

And see what’s really there

Smoke pouring from a closed off room.

– Vagabond Prophet