Poetry Therapy

08/15/2026

"Write It in the Sand"

My heart beats poetry
write it in the sand.
It sounds like the melody
of power in your hands.
Make something beautiful
before the tide arrives.
Give your wildest dreams a name,
give your colors life.
Paint the sky with borrowed light,
let your hands become the flame.
There is no promise art will last
only that it came.
Write it in the sand
with your fingers, with your soul.
Let the ocean take the words
but never take the whole.
For what is art
if not a moment
we refuse to let pass by?
A little piece of forever
made by mortal hands
beneath an ever-changing sky.
So sing it into the wind.
Paint it into the rain.
Press your heart into the earth
and make beauty from the pain.
And when the waves come calling,
when they wash your words away,
remember
you were here.
You made something.
You loved something enough
to create it anyway.
My heart beats poetry.
I write it in the sand.
And for one sacred moment,
the universe
is in my hands.

💜JLG

07/24/2026

Time has the gentlest hands.
It doesn't steal.
It teaches your bones
the choreography of becoming
until your days begin
moving without your permission.
One morning,
you are reaching toward tomorrow.
The next,
tomorrow is standing behind you,
smiling
as if it has known your name
for years.
A decade is only visible
from the far shore.
While you're crossing,
it is only water.
You never feel
the exact moment
your laughter becomes a memory,
or your mother's voice
becomes something you search for
inside ordinary silence.
You never notice
the last time
the old version of you
is alive.
You are too busy
learning the language of light,
placing pieces of your heart
into gardens,
into strangers,
into children,
into songs,
never realizing
you are leaving yourself everywhere.
Then one impossible afternoon,
the wind turns around.
You look back
and discover
you have been painting
with your own disappearing.
What remains
isn't the years.
It's the color
love refused to let time erase.

👣JLG

07/18/2026

07/18/2026

"Conservation of Sorrow"

Nothing is ever destroyed.
Not stars.
Not forests.
Not grief.
It only changes form.
Today
my sorrow became silence.
Tomorrow
it may become a poem.
Years from now,
perhaps
it will become
the sentence
that keeps another mother
alive
long enough
to hear her daughter
laugh again.

❤️JLG