I wrote my first poem, one week after a break up.
He is a Kite,
Flying high in the sky,
Attached gently to a reel.
The reel is his home.
When the sky is too crowded with other kites,
When the sky is cloudy,
When the sky is torrential,
He yearns for the reel to bring him home.
When the sky is clear, the breeze is steady,
He wishes to fly freely.
In these moments,
He yearns to fly far away from home.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
The scenery is so captivating;
For a moment, he wishes there were no strings attached to his reel.
I loved the kite.
Every moment spent with the kite is extraordinary.
Yet, I can’t master the reel.
The tension is often too tight.
I let it go, the Kite goes,
And every moment, I yearn for the Kite to come home.
The reel burns my hand; yet I continue to touch it,
Again and again.
Each time hoping to master the reel,
Without pain, without sorrow.
But pain and sorrow never seized,
And it showed me Kite and I will never be;
For I am not a master of the reel.
What I am is a rowboat.
A rowboat with one oar, journeying out at sea.
Exploring new lands,
Through the calm and choppy sea.
I’m looking for another oar to join me,
To paddle alongside me,
Rain or shine, night and day,
Day after day, every day.
The Kite is not an Oar.
The Kite cannot fly at sea.
Let the Kite fly free.
Let the Kite be his master.
For he shall find his true horizon,
When he reels himself at ease.
The Kite will always have a seat in the rowboat’s heart.
The rowboat will admire the kite from the sea;
Watching him shine his light from the sky;
Sending him love always as she journeys on at sea.