Preface . . .
My mother recently told me, that while looking through old photo albums, she came across a poem I had written at the age of seven. That was fifty-one years ago.
A self-proclaimed introvert, throughout my life I have used poetry as a means of journaling, as a catharsis of sorts.
Later, the flow of words became an art form, documenting how I perceived people, events and the world. It seemed only my blank, white paper, truly understood my emotions.
Words will wake me in the night, words interrupt me while I work; springing into my head when I least expect their arrival.
I log these moments. I log the myriad of my perceptions.
In love and peace, I share them with you….
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