This is the start of a poem I have been working on. I don’t want to share it all just now, because all in all is quite depressing and I don’t want to spread the curse around.
This is how I want to feel inside.
This is how I should feel inside.
This is far from how I feel inside.
My sorrows will go
like birds that migrate
In search of a better place
Sunnier and kinder to thrive,
No reasons for me to be low
And a wee trace of hope
that will guide me up
I will be able to touch
With my own hands.
To be honest, I have not been writing too much lately. Work and uni are very demanding mistresses, so I look forward to kinder, sunnier and better times, indeed. In fact, I do look forward to migrate like those birds, and not having to carry the gloominess of my current sky over my shoulders…
Perhaps the gloominess is not outwith, perhaps it won’t matter that I migrate, and that gloominess will follow me around, like that solitary rainy cloud followed Truman around…
I think I am going to stop writing, that is, thinking.