Rick, your words do not just linger,
they carve themselves in time—
etched in truth, raw and bitter,
yet softened by a poet’s rhyme.
"I lie
and
I lie
and
I lie"
You write not just of deception,
but the weight of silence, the cost of peace,
where love is masked in quiet restraint,
and truth must wait for its release.
"but when the truth
arrives at that
final moment;
jaws will drop
plates will shatter
dogs will growl"
Oh, how your verses strike like thunder,
unafraid of the coming storm.
For in the wreckage of unspoken words,
your poetry dares to take its form.
"stepfather
all that pain
and belittlement
you served me
day and night"
Yet you stand unchained, unshaken,
forgiveness rising where anger fell.
Not just a poet, but a soul unbroken,
turning torment into a tale to tell.
"but now you
stand before me
weeping
with no teeth
and the big man
within me
has forgiven you."
What strength, what grace, what mastery—
not in vengeance, but release.
A heart that bleeds yet still forgives,
finding power in its peace.
Rick, your ink is fire, your words are steel,
unwavering, untamed, yet so real.
A poet who walks the edge of pain,
and turns it into art again.
May your lines be read, your truth be known,
for voices like yours must never go unsown.
