The Prodigal Daughter
Thanks to a class offered by a
soft spoken South American professor
who preaches the gospel of creativity
I am whole again.
Seeking the power of steel beams and girders
I had tossed my Muse (my dearest friend) into the sea.
I needed muscle
not watercolor dreams leading nowhere.
I learned to weld and solder
to read blueprints and gauge distances
to hammer and sweat in the sun
until mine was as big as his.
I forgot how to cry.
Finally one say in class (for three credits)
I walked alone across the bridge that
I had built with my own two hands and
found my Muse waiting there
like an indulgent mother
for me to call her name.
Now words and colors and images
leap and dance before my eyes
and I paint golden wildflowers on my bridge
and I sing purple poems
and my tears fall freely now
because I have come home again,
transformed.
It is indeed a form of prayer.
by Pyschscribe copyright 2008
Tags: creativity, poems, poetry, psychscribe, the prodigal daughter
March 13, 2008 at 7:22 pm
I like it all, but these lines ring so so true for me:
Now words and colors and images
leap and dance before my eyes
and I paint golden wildflowers on my bridge
and I sing purple poems
and my tears fall freely now
because I have come home again,
transformed.
March 14, 2008 at 6:06 pm
I really love the imagery you put forward in this poem, it is truly beautiful! Thanks for sharing!
March 18, 2008 at 7:50 pm
Lovely – sounds like an inspiring journey, which reminds me of how much I’m enjoying getting back to writing (I’ve written more poems in the last 6 weeks than the previous 6 years!). Such a precious gift to be able to write…
I love the juxtaposition of the golden wildflowers and the purple poems!
I also like the “(for three credits)” line – it highlights how huge the creative reward is compared to the credit reward!
March 19, 2008 at 1:31 pm
OrSoSheSaid, SanityFound, and lirone: Thank you so very very much for your kind words. It means so much to me that you liked my poem enough to take the time to comment as you did. Blessings to all of you, may you paint golden wildflowers and sing purple poems yourselves, in your own work! Pscyhscribe