Once I could write of rains
and the pain they bring.
Today I am afraid of the umbrellas, of shelters,
of the short-lived moments
of what I used to call happiness,
of the ill-planned escapes from cells
filled with my own darkness and filth.
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How have I grown into this person
who recognizes only one face,
that is my own.
Can my selfishness be something
that I can blame someone else for?
Is this also some form of loneliness?
Poetry...in Motion
An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart
Ideas and musings from a middle-aged 20 something
the poetry of mia wright
Poetry
Featuring the work of Lori Milos-Ivanski
Handcrafted Soap, Bee Keeping, Farming and More
Strolling around SE Michigan & sending joy in the journey.
The making of a horror novelist.
Poetry and prose by Basilike Pappa
A Safe Place to Share Your Stories
The Journey Begins
Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist
Photographically Inspired Writing
La cosa importante è di non smettere mai di interrogarsi. La curiosità esiste per ragioni proprie. Non si può fare a meno di provare riverenza quando si osservano i misteri dell'eternità, della vita, la meravigliosa struttura della realtà. Basta cercare ogni giorno di capire un po' il mistero. Non perdere mai una sacra curiosità. ( Albert Einstein )
