This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
Is there a well of
ideas that finally
will run dry one day?
Will you live your life
in a world out your windows
or one in your screens?
If a pin drops
in the woods will anyone
be able to find it?
Can you find a space
maybe a hushed tiny one
to hear your own heart?
Is it lack of time
or loss of courage
constraining your life?