A poem for your thoughts…

As you guys know, as a part of my Up Late with Mighty Kate series, I’ve been asking you to send me questions about my life and/or music so I can answer them on video.  I have loved getting these questions from you (keep them coming!!) however, about a month ago,  I received a question in an email from an old friend and brilliant poet, whom we shall refer to as “Stephen the Poet”.   He said he had been at a loss for inspiration lately and wondered (in so many words) “where and how do I find the strength and hope to stay focused and driven in this crazy business”?

It seems like there should be a really easy answer to this question. But in my Inbox it sat as I procrastinated and avoided it as best as I could.  Somehow it was like the big bad wolf, or the monster in the closet.. the more I thought about it, the harder it became to come up with words to explain just where the “MIGHT” in Mighty Kate comes from.

Then, two days ago, I opened up the dusty pages of my journal… and out came a poem. Now, you must understand.. I don’t write poetry.  In the 8th grade my English teacher gave me such a complex about my inability to write it that I have always shied away from it whenever possible. (Lyrics=good, Poetry=bad) Nevertheless, this poem came out and I couldn’t help but notice that in a very roundabout way, it was the answer I had been looking for.  After a bit of coaxing from you dear souls on Twitter, I’ve decided to share it with you in honor of  Stephen the Poet’s question. A poem for a poet. Be gentle.

Fortune
By Katy Pfaffl aka Mighty Kate
3/30/10

I felt the slap of fortune’s palm
upon the skin of my resolve,
and as the welts began to show
my sorrow flushed in afterglow.
There, like a fountain, I released
the tears of famine and of feast
until my demons turned to stone,
purging the guilt I had outgrown.

I raised my arms, lifted my voice,
and sang the cry of freedoms choice,
echoing deep into the void
that bitter patience had destroyed.
Soon time grew still, like heaven’s breath,
and I stood very close to death,
it’s bony fingers cold and crook’d,
yet I stole back the life it took.

I do not know how much time passed
as seasons faded into ash
and lifetimes wilted and decayed,
abandoning reason’s façade.
Out of a dream I simply woke
inside the ruin’s blackened smoke,
no longer blinded by the lies.
The truth had granted me new eyes.

Today I live this second chance,
refrained from doubt or backward glance.
Embracing grace, I am a cup,
trusting that life will fill me up -
prepared, when fortune comes again
and darkness poses as my friend,
to know the balance that I seek
and simply turn the other cheek.