what is there
to write about other than life
and death and why
we’re here?
what is there
to live for other than chasing
our tales and trying
to endure?
and we wonder
after towers fall, how
can we ever return
to poetry? how will we
be compelled to invent
in the face of certain death?
easy: what else is left?
1 comment:
gratitude. for all of it, whatever it is. for this, which will end, yes. yes. the whole thing.
but the gratitude.
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