If you look close enough
There's nothing up my sleeve
As I pull out this poem
For all of you to read

Appearing here in front of you
Your eyes do not decieve
This magic poem of wonder
If you only will believe

It's here for your entertainment
To wow and to amaze
A poem containing magic
Who's secret I'll take to the grave

You may not see but my writing hand
Is quicker than the eye
As it pulls ideas from out the air
And sets them down in rhyme

It's in the grandest of illusions
If the truth be known
If you blink then you'll miss it in
The magic of the poem

You are the
window
to my pain

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.