A couple of nights ago as I was falling asleep, the words were bumbling around in my head. As they do.
Whence I awoke in the dawn of shallwoulds, I tried to cast a line back to the half-sleeps.
As such that I caught, please enjoy some of my own bad poetry.
Embrace the fires inside.
Not the ones to burn the world down.But the ones that will light the sky.
With the roar of a lion.We are not our situation.
Put on a new imagination.There’s no way that can be fixed.
That’s as much as I was able to remember but as I was drifting the bumbles seemed to go on for paragraphs.
Fucking Poetry. Yes, I said it, I meant it, I stole my mother’s credit.
Dig your own bad self!
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When I’m drifting to sleep after drinking more than my fair share of coffee, words will surf in and out like the above. I sometimes think of writing more down but whenever I do I feel like I’m being pompously grand or overly wordy. Poetry is kinda artsy and not much like how I’ve been writing in the here and now.
But thanks for your kudos! Maybe I’ll at least write the down wordiness now and then. 😊
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