BB Grey–musings

I write to visit the pain,
to trace the joy I’ve known,
when people stood at my side,
their voices clear, their faces near.

It’s easier to live in the echoes
of what has been,
to shape the past with words,
than to step into the unknown—
where joy and pain are strangers,
and I am alone.

The future whispers promises,
but its hands are empty,
its face a shadow.
So I write backwards,
holding tight to what I’ve held before,
because the past is a story I can control,
and the future is a page
I’m afraid to turn.