Anthony W. Pahl


Ah… why, when the storm was merely a minor depression,
was my pen able to record my pain and fear?

Why, when the life of love and love of life was within my sphere of being
was I able to use the indelible ink of my tears
to sate and state my uncertainties?
Why, when I felt freedom in the need to ride the cycle of time,
did the past sweep by and over me
like a kaleidoscope of vaguely perceived recollections?
Why, now that the post traumatic storm has arrived
and swept me up with and into its irresistible vortex,
can I no longer record the turmoil that is within and upon me?

I tell you my friend; the storm is not post traumatic;
the storm is now and the past is the present.
Tell me truly my fellow pilgrim,
in sad and tear saturated agony
do you write of the present…
or do you merely, like me, write of the past?

I say unto you – until the past is relegated to the past
and our minds accept the pains of the present
as mere reflections of the past,
that enervating wind drying the reality of our tears
will too, dry the ink in the well of our unwritten words.

Write of the past as the past. Write of the present as the present.
Combine the two only after both have been penned and secured
else the ancient graphite shall fade and the parchment shall crumble
and past and present will be lost, both,
in the unbearable light of the agony of tomorrow.

Write my friend – the words are there and will come.
Do not seek meaning in those words,
nor seek ye solace in rhythm…
for it is the words that shall find their level
in your heart and consciousness
and all shall issue forth from the font of memories.

I speak these words with love and knowledge
for I too have travelled upon the road
that your pain dictates and directs your journey…

The answer is in confident acceptance that there is an Eye to every Storm.