Friday, June 10, 2016

Be wildered


When I think about it too hard
I get vertigo.
When I don't do anything,
I turn morbid and green.
When I consider giving up,
I feel less...
closer to Death-without it.
When I write, I feel right.
When I forget all of this
I make sense.



Painting By Frederick McCubbin, 'Lost' 1886 (1855-1917) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Labels: , ,

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

White

Unopened mail on the counter, a meal half eaten sits on the table, fork frozen in position of the last bite. A world abandoned mid-sentence,...

  • A Quake Among the Giants
    Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens  trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
  • The answer to my prayers
    A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
  • Tres (trace)
    Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...