with reflection, we also find ourselves.
Her smile lit up the room. It always did. Love you, grandmother dearest.
This is the brutal reality of being an introverted writer.
I haven't posted a poem on the blog for a long time. This is an longer one than usual, which is a part of one I'm planning to include in my third book of poetry.
Writing in the darkness of a room has always been my scenery of choice. The patience of thought, gradually expressed. Peace is the word. I am at peace with myself. Solitude does help you sustain it. That echo or a whisper, now simply a memory engraved in the mind.
Here's a little poem I wrote just now. It's untitled and a work in progress... Solitude is a necessity, when your mind is louder than people, And a comfort for the soul, if lonely at heart The older, the wiser. Or perhaps, that's a lie we tell ourselves? Wandering thoughts and lingering words All…