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Poetry, Divorce and Introspection Through Writing.

I have enjoyed writing since I was first encouraged by a high school English teacher. I have found that over the years the words grow.

Writing poetry as catharsis

Writing can be a cathartic endeavor for some people. It is for me.

My marriage ended after 16 years. The last six years or more, were spent trying to think of reasons to stay. However, there were no joyful moments any longer. My wife and I were two people who did not belong together. Finally we ended the marriage. I find myself much more at peace with my life and I hope my ex wife feels the same. We do not communicate much.

I had been writing poetry, off and on, since high school. I had begun writing again using the Instagram platform. I found the activity to be rewarding. I was able to release the emotions and relive them, and therefore study myself in a more involved manner.

The topics I wrote, and continue to write about, have a wide range. Almost every word has an emotional attachment. I write many introspective pieces with happiness or sadness as the motif. It all depends upon how the day is progressing.

When I settled into my new life, I found that writing was even more cathartic. Here are a few of those pieces. Perhaps someone reading them may find some solace within the sounds and images that the words can create.

Erik Suderman


The windows are being pushed wide open,

welcoming the swaying trees with my hello.

There is comfort in the fall's whistling breeze,

like the quick smile of some rambling fellow.

The tightened screens sieve unpredictability,

so I'll remain in the comfort of a new chair.

The burden in my heart makes me too heavy,

encapsulating myself from what's out there.

The will to move comforts some future day.

The haggardness of now hugs my chest tightly.

Through the brightest days I hear friendly calls.

Yet, I must console a heart beating unbrightly.

I'll care deeply for these roots I've inspired,

protruding from my soul, I'll remain stable.

Smiles are possible but in sorrow I'm attired.

Wisdom instructs that comfort is more than a fable.


-Sorrow’s Hands

Hope claims it can stay,

like the places of calm,

where a heart can glide,

slow on evening's softness,

amongst ancient trees.

Belief goes off traveling,

like those breezes that swirl,

along mountain glades,

down to the red plateaus,

dancing upon the sandstone.

Haggard from constant sowing,

is a nobility lived too long,

suffering on the soil of a land,

rooted in honor and duty,

left fallow by sorrow’s hands.


-Dark Start To Morning

I Bask in the sun,

grown dirty in the train window.

That fire is kneeling down,

grunge swallowing its dimming crown.

Ungentlemanly jostled to and fro,

I sense gravity twirling with glee.

The wheels wobble between fast and slow,

prattling while trying to exclaim,

their life never knew a collapsing shame.

Will that yonder, depressed bridge,

support this over stressed train?

Or, will it decide it's just been too boring?

Riding along on this old rusted toughness,

perhaps I'll view the sun once again,

beyond tomorrow's dark start to morning.


-Train Tunnel

This unkempt and desolate train tunnel,

has a resistance to warmth and bliss.

The too lazy grit is proud of permanence,

engraving its texture upon this abyss.

Here subtle sounds are swallowed easily,

each detail only an amorphous form,

variations in refuse and grime permeate,

happy memories long ago left forlorn.

All the space beneath this suffering city,

echoes with the huffing of lethargy.

The sounds dulled with much indifference,

yet there is bright light and lithe energy.

Warmth and comfort with a lasting vigor,

I notice upon a polish from deep within,

where a heart shines with constant delight,

In this joyous aura is where my days begin.

To slough off all forms of the daily debris,

remaining balanced upon lighter ground,

empowers the smile with a gentle might,

to never sway in battle, round after round.

This environment of tension and beauty,

enervates every edge and each corner,

where one can discover a life's dream,

no longer to sulk like an empty mourner.

So, I step from such grit each sunrise,

walk with a lift so as to view the sky,

this metropolis once hurried me,

now I've tamed it and its smile is shy.


-Seemingly Free

It has all fallen with no reprieve,

each support cried out in relief,

cracks crumbled away like dreams,

allowing entrapped hope a last release.

It floats as dust puffs over the debris,

and I'm smothered by lonesome rubble,

welcome now to ramble and often stumble,

feeling somewhat like I'm seemingly free.


I hope you were able to experience these words in your own way. Perhaps you have traveled a similar path, or were able to walk alongside me in these syllables. Either way, I hope you found the words enjoyable.

Thank You for Your time,

Erik Suderman

© 2020 Erik Suderman