Come, Poem

You have always
lived in me,
waiting
to be discovered.

When I clear away
the debris-
the doubts,
the distractions,
the distorted beliefs
that have kept you
hidden,
a hint of your essence
begins to emerge.

Pen poised
over the page,
I listen patiently,
trusting you
to take form.

Come, poem.
I know
I cannot contain you,
yet I feel compelled
to honor you
in the only way
I know.
With words.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith