a poem on the myriad gifts of journaling
When I flip through my journal
I see pages and demarcations of my soul.
Dreams dissected, hopes resurrected.
A dry latte spill of morning coffee.
A tear-stained eulogy of emotion and mossy
seas to treasure dive, and retrieve.
Tiny lines of poetry.
Little lists of daily living.
Star songs when they flow through me.
Tarot-speak and third-eye-seeing.
A thousand shades of self,
captured on thick cream with black lines.
Each stroke sheds an old cloak,
each word and note write the pages of life’s flow.
When I look at the whole of scribble’s compose
I see a soul’s becoming, across space and time.