a medieval day

wish i wrote dark, about deep insecurities,

a struggling childhood, i wish i wrote

like others with words of wonderfull

syllables, bells ringing,

you know.

wish i wrote long tomes, to bore myself

rigid. to tap the hours away till bedtime,


wonder if i shall write serious,

tell thee all hard stories that

don’t exist. i wonder if i shall stop,

when no one reads.

this is a time to wonder at the

dark hours leaving, waters receding,

black trees slowly turning. wintergreen.