“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label when I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label when I. Show all posts
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Making myself scarce
When the door latches,
when it is only me
in this shrinking body,
when all I must do
is what I must,
when I start to feel lucky
I must be blessed,
when I am rested
I think of aging,
when I am tired
I remember dying,
when I wake up
when I reach for a pen,
I am alive. I am living.
Image credit Joseph-Philibert Girault de Prangey, 1840 self portrait in[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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