A poet can only speak
truth of their own life
highest compliment
to know that our explosive
rush of words resonates
our trembling unveiling
of deepest self
touches the secret
depths of another
Writing poetry is inherently
solitary
a reflective, lonely
walk in wilderness
of our own hearts and souls
full of unexpected detours
buried memories
hopes
hidden hunter’s snares
unanticipated crossroads
that we must stand before
make a choice
to embrace one of our truths
at the expense of another
I am constantly learning
relearning
my own inner terrain
trying to map
this ever-shifting landscape
create a guidebook
to document this poet’s journey
share my small truths
with the world
© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved
Brave & Reckless 
Here there be dragons and unicorns,
And storms to shatter worlds,
And boats becalmed on wave-less seas,
And faeries dancing with butterflys,
And labyrinthine tunnels of memory,
And all the wonder of love,
And all the grief of loss,
And no end to what may be discovered.
Here the albatross is shot,
And also falls away.
Here, the poet wanders, but is not lost.
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<3<3<3
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Christine Ray charting the poet’s world.
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‘my own inner terrain’ ❤️
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I’m glad that it spoke to you Kristiana
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Very, very well elucidated.
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Thank you
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