3 Lessons Learned From My Father’s Death
Friday Flow Is Back
So many of us seek answers to life
as if there is something better for us
until our final moments
when we look back
and see
everything was
right under our feet.
It’s 4:02 am on Friday and words flow through me like rapids in the Colorado River. It’s therapy in a funnel. I write when I’m heavy or else my demons take me to an underworld I might not recover from.
August was one of the toughest months I’ve had since my divorce. My dad passed thirty-eight days ago and it’s been challenging to accept. It’s something in a man's life you can’t escape. An inevitable threshold and a scar that is proof you can rise from the depths of hell.
Which explains all the poems I’ve written lately despite them feeling like scattered stanzas across the faded pages of my past. Writing poetry isn’t something you just do. It becomes a part of you . And if you don’t write, you become lost on the dusty shelves of the past like everyone else.
