This is
where imagination and reality blend,
where poetry, stories, and journal entries mingle,
where my heart throbs, and God is sought
When I Must Write
Sometimes I must.
There’s no other choice,
I just
Have to write.
Sometimes thoughts weary my mind.
They spin round and round in loops,
Tangling, untangling, swirling about,
And they’ve got to come out.
Speaking them isn’t sufficient.
For how could lips say what I want?
Inability to express what’s inside
Is cruel and torturous.
I cannot keep silent.
And so
My fingers write,
Dumping it out in free verse as chunks or as powder;
Creating ghastly shapes, or stirring words into chowder,
Or broth, or laksa—
Who knows? Who cares?
Maybe no one else sees the point,
But now my heart is fulfilled
And my mind at rest,
Because I just wrote.
-Rynelle Penner
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