TO YOU WRITING POEMS NOW ANYWHERE IN THE LIVING WORLD
You may think because your words win no major prizes
That you are unheard
Or that, if they do eventually
The contests trivialize you
But I would like to say
Poetry is a contest of another sort
A contest of the heart against the chaos
Of the unexpressed
And every word in this direction is more than blessed
Even if heard by only the angels
Cast your silver light upon the dark waters
Even one shining thread
Staying up all night to scrawl the least line
Perhaps it may be a lifeline
A sliver of hope
To those who in great sorrow grope
Blind and in anguish for meaning
Or a spark of love that reaches them
In just a syllable or two
On which they can be leaning
Or light years sped to those in dungeons
Nothing is wasted that from your heart is spun
Though multitudes turn aside from it.
mary angela douglas 11 march 2024
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