Over twenty years ago I wrote a lot of poems. Lately I’ve been reading through them and realized how much I’ve grown since then. Most of them no longer fit who I am today. A few of them can still make me feel the intensity of the emotions I had way back then. However, one is as true today as it was when I wrote it in July of 1989.
DUST ON THE SHELF
I take myself gently by the hand and listen to my fears and needs.
I comfort my soul in time of grief as I cry upon my knees.
With positive thoughts I will face the many tragedies that will come.
And always remember I’m important no matter how insecure I become.
No one understands or cares for me better than myself.
I must try never to forget I exist, like the dust on the shelf.
No piece of art is greater than the mind God has given me.
I alone have the power to control my destiny.
Nobody can destroy that which I have Built.
Save for one, the dreaded enemy in myself.
My foes may be many but no one is stronger than I.
And like the dust on the shelf, I will always be standing by.
DUST ON THE SHELF
I take myself gently by the hand and listen to my fears and needs.
I comfort my soul in time of grief as I cry upon my knees.
With positive thoughts I will face the many tragedies that will come.
And always remember I’m important no matter how insecure I become.
No one understands or cares for me better than myself.
I must try never to forget I exist, like the dust on the shelf.
No piece of art is greater than the mind God has given me.
I alone have the power to control my destiny.
Nobody can destroy that which I have Built.
Save for one, the dreaded enemy in myself.
My foes may be many but no one is stronger than I.
And like the dust on the shelf, I will always be standing by.
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