I've swallowed whole my humble pie
For years now without remorse
I was content to leave it all as such
And let all things take its 'natural' course
But then I learned I could take a pen
And weave words around a rhythmic display
If it wasn't for that fateful chance
I wouldn't be half the man I am today

Because when I get sad, I close the door
And I cry
But when I get sad and think of these words
I get by

These words are my reconciliation
To a life in which I can relate
But I feel so shameful
When I chose mine
Because I chose mine

For years to come, I would covet this
A final poem, a final prose
And in the hours that past me by
I never seem to write any of those
These words I love to put to the test
As if tried and true never failed
And in my path comes consequence
of the catered streams where they wade
I've used them up, I've brought them down
On many, oft without mercy or delay
Without them, I'd never get this far
I'd never tell you in this way

But when I get here and close the door
I can get by
But when I'm alone with these words
I still cry

These words are my appreciation
Something I can dedicate
But it’s often so painful
When I chose mine
Because I chose mine

©2015 Neal Emanuelson