And Then... Poem by Shameca Biggs

It started with blood, sweat and tears.
The pain of the thrill being lost after years.
The pleasure of the hunt, the capture, the frills.
Fighting the plight of each valley after the hills.

And then there was peace and quiet.
The deafening silence after a riot.
The somber night after a day of war.
The band-aid on a nasty sore.

But then a gripping melancholy came viciously calling.
A morbid isolation encased in deprivation of passions falling.
A lack of motivation birthed from stimulation; stalling.
A restless hunger for spiritual restoration came a crawling.

And then the tables turned to bring forth happenings.
A menacing stroke of deepest black; death it screams.
A fiery splash of blushing orange; love's daydreams.
A heavy fat drop of blue from sorrow's streams.

But then a blessing, a wish, a fortunate score.
All these things came prancing through the door.
All these things and so much more.
All these things to shake the core.

And Then...there is no longer And Then.
And Then...the story comes to an End.
And Then...the question is no longer and then.
And Then has now become And when.