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There's No Poem Here


by Darryl Price


It's just me. I wanted
to talk to you. 
I'm not even sure 
what it is I'm going 

to say. It's more
a feeling I want
to pass on to you.
I imagine we'll 

get to it eventually.
It starts

with me trusting myself

not to lie. It
starts with friendship and
even if we're not 
friends, it ends with it.

It's only me. Each
person, it seems, has 
to answer the question, 
what is love, for 

themselves. In their own 

time and in their own 
fashion. Guess you could 

say, this is mine. I 
want to show you the 
meaning I've found, in 
case it helps you in 

your own discovery.
I'm not against 
your chosen path, I'm 
for my path, even 

as it meanders 
around the universe
looking for answers
 
to impossible 
questions, like, what
is Home? My wish would
not be to take away 

your sorrows, but 
to grant you courage
to continue to

look for a better
way--to express, to 
create, to learn, to 
grow, to accept 

and give real forgiveness.
This is a small
kindness, a gust of 
kissing wind on a 

sad day in time. You
are not alone. I 

am here with you. You're 

already here, too.
That's a start. It's as 
good a place as any
to journey from.

Let them bitch and moan.
That's what they do. This 
is what we do when
we pick up the hope

again, not just for 

ourselves, but for everyone 
who is hurting,

or lost or lonely, 
who is hungry 
for the love that is 
always there inside 

each and every lifeform 
everywhere. I
wouldn't extinguish
your shadows down to 

nothing, but give you 
present awareness 
of certain eternal 

lights available 
to you, like music,
lights like holding 
hands or laughing out 

loud together, or 
sharing a meal, or 
climbing mountains of 

beautiful trees, watching 
oceans of stars. 
I know you know what 
I'm talking about, 

so let's dispense with 
all the doom and gloom 
scenarios currently 
sprouting in

our heads. They're just weeds.
Don't let them displace
 
the flowers in your 

garden. You are the 
gardener, do your 
job. You are the gatekeeper 
to your soul. 

The rats don't stand a 
rotten chance against 
you, if you'll remember, 
you're weighty with 

possibility.

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