I found a voice in poetry.  

It became a fragrant love language between me and my Creator God. 

Poetry was like a healing balm to the waning and waxing of my weak stemmed faith.

And I was helped in the process.

Every sentence mattered.

Every word mattered.

Every syllable had a purpose and 

every moment moved me

further up and further in.

From the beginning, the word poetry began as a verb coming from the ancient Greek which means, “making” or “creating.” 

Poetry helped me make change my thought habits, which changed my view, and in time, things were made new and beautiful in its proposed time.

Poetry helped me to create my story with His in view. 

So, I am.  Perfectly imperfect.  

Dear Reader, let’s begin creating our own story.  Even if your beliefs are different from mine, poetry is open to all no matter who you are or where you come from.  

Let’s begin ~ Hope, help and healing is held here. 

Please, come sit in the garden of my writings. May they bring a curious nature to you, a place where you find hope, comfort and joy.