I wrote this poem in September 1996, when I was 14. I stumbled across it tonight, and it suddenly seemed an excellent expression of some of my emotions.
I wonder where in the deep dark depths
That some may call my mind
That quiet place
In a turbulent race
To be, achieve, survive…
The where, the how, the what I seek
I can no longer see.
I know, I feel, I sense – and yet
I’m lost, and blind, not healed.
For what can heal but time and love
And caring not besides?
Must not destruct, or tear, or wound,
But seal with loving touch.
To know not how the wound was cut
Or ripped, or torn, or shredded
Is to lack the knowledge of the past
And to future remedies be blind.
And so creativity is bred –
Comes it not from need?
To proceed when pain has shrouded the way
With hurt, deception, sorrow
Is no small feat I know, and yet,
This is the road I must follow.