#170
Do you think that
there is hope hidden
in these scribbles?
Perhaps one in a hundreds,
plenty enough reason
to write on.
#171
i remember admiring
those poets so greatly
that evening in the café.
Might have been their skill
might have been their words.
Or the courage to stand up
and shout to the room
“i feel!
i think and i ache! i love
and loved and am no more afraid
of the power of those
aches and thoughts then
i am of your praise or
judgements of my person,
of myself
as i stand here
quietly stripping away my armour.
Still. And unafraid.”
i was a teenager.
i was inspired.
#172
My words are short
because i want you
to read this, and hear me.
Go.
Go now, and let
nothing stop you.
#173
What a waste of time
entertaining myself
with the news of other
people’s fictions, dramas,
vanities, and addictions.
i miss my imagination,
the freedom in headphones,
the drive to climb into
a satisfying tree,
and think.
#174
Climbing up
endless imagination
a child at play
in his ancestor’s
home, pulling on carpets,
climbing on couches,
rattling the floorboards,
shaking the rooftop,
discovering mysteries
and joys. The sunrises,
chasing the curvy crescent moon
painting the darkness,
my breath is still,
my heart races still.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write