5 Word Poem: Give me 5 words, I’ll write you a poem. I promise to use them even if I don’t know em.

5 words from Chat GPT: Mirror, fever, thread, doorway, and salt

There is a Thread

Mystics say life is mirror,

A reflection of my internal world…

My thoughts, feelings, and intentions.

And I see it all.

The beauty, the suffering, the love

All ugly beautiful.

The truth is beautiful

And exists only in the immaterial.

Like salt from the sea,

We take only this with us.

I’ve learned there is nothing in the material world

That compares to the truth, 

That can close the God-shaped hole

In my heart and soul.

We yearn with a fever to be one,

To experience oneness

In this world of separation.

We see no thread connecting us to the glorious

When truly we are forever one.

I look for the doorway everywhere,

The way out,

The way to peace.

And the way is simply through and through

Time and time again.

5 Word Poem: Give me 5 words, I’ll write you a poem. I promise to use ’em even if I don’t know ’em”

5 words from: HIllary and Leila: flapjack, ice, yum yum, predicament, vanity

Follow the Yum Yums

Stuck.
Too much on the mind—
overwhelm
to the point of freeze.

Can’t decide what to do,
how to begin.

I want to break the ice,
burst into flow—
like water moving
just beneath.

Flip me like a flapjack,
let me see the other side.

The way out of this predicament—
my ability to choose and move,
cemented.

Is it vanity
to believe I cannot?

Something imagined—
to overcome,
to see what’s real?

No.
This I know—
it is not that.

It is real.

And believing in myself
is the first step.

Knowing I can’t
helps me find
the ways that I can.

So I begin
by savoring
every yum yum of the day—

every small moment of joy
I can find.

With the patience
of watching a flower bloom,
I watch myself

watering seeds of flow
in so many places.

Trusting,
one day,
they will connect—

and carry me
into a steady rhythm
of movement
(and rest)
in peace.

A Writer Not Writing

I am a writer not writing.

I have been a writer not writing
for most of my life—
not for lack of passion,
but for lack of peace in my mind
and calm in my body.

I have been away
in a long, dark night.

But it seems the dawn has come,
because today—
I write.

It was my solace once,
the pen in my hand,
the sound of paper.

I had unknowingly, passionately
connected with a powerful tool
for healing.

Oh, my pen—
my freedom.

And I love nothing more than freedom.

Yet a feeling creeps in
time and time again,
telling me I should be doing something else—
something more “productive.”

It’s hard to find your joy
when you are drowning.

Writing is my joy.
Writing is my passion.

And today,
I choose to give it time.

My pen, my friend,
I welcome you back.

Together, we are free—
honestly me—
giving passion
its rightful place.