I write, so I can listen.

“Letters of Intent”

I write to listen.
Silence.
Pen Abrades Paper.
Noise erupts.
Work crumbles.

“Silence,” I whisper.

I write so that I may learn to listen.

My ears in training, by now, to hear the
Soul’s murmurs expressed as letters organized
into crowds on the page.

A friend had a dream-
Pin scoring leather hide.
A call to arms-
Get Writing!

The soul marks white footsteps
in new snow-
I hear nothing of its travels unless I write.

Lines, curves, hieroglyphics,
I could care less.

I seek the precipitating factor,
the pebble that crystallizes my soul on the page.

Permutations of “me” trickle out with the abruptness
and shock of seeing one’s own blood spilled.

The splat of blood striking cold tile in the kitchen,
site of my latest injury-
disturbs me.

It’s not the blood, nor the words,
but the shocking reminder of life’s tenuous
dependence on a beating heart and sanguine flood
within us.

We forget, until blood,
it’s coloring so frighteningly distinct,
drips from us and reminds us that for now, you are alive.

Similarly, the soul’s murmurings across the page
confront us with the words of living.

I write, so I can listen.

In the act of creation, we see pieces of our Souls laid before us. A dialogue begins, as thoughts, feelings, emotions emerge in a way we would have never allowed in simple conversation. We write and create so that we can listen and learn. No act of expression goes unnoticed. A part of you is always revealed, leading you to greater understanding.

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