Stream of Consciousness
The Weight of Nothing, Something
Darkness, impenetrable intangible, casts its unrelenting shadow over me. Reprieve and relief have become obscure ideals, experiential relics of a past the memory of which slowly dissipates into nothing. People tend to misunderstand nothing. In its own cruel way, nothing is something. When it's your only something, you cling to it as I cling to it. I've long forgotten what it felt like to have something—anything worthy of pride and a sense of achievement. “True hope... is swift." "True hope is swift... and flies with swallow's wings. Kings it makes gods and meaner creatures kings." What is hope?
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
roll down your window
I would never roll the windows down in a car that is not my own. I would not roll down the window in my father’s car, nor my mother’s car. I would not roll down the window in an Uber; I would not roll down the window anywhere, at anytime, for any reason, on my own.
By angela hepworth2 years ago in Poets
