I used to live here;
in endless contemplation.
Struggling to put into words some profound beauty,
Some ancient wisdom passed down through many lives lived unbeknownst to me.

To be honest I never even sat down to think about my “poems.”

I never stopped to read them before I shared,
a half thought turned to ten lines or a massive revelation turned to two.
I wanted to be a wordsmith and give everything I said a sense of grandeur.

Even now I’m typing without intention;
Without a scheme.
I almost never know what to say...
Regardless of the word *****.
Still wishing I sounded good on paper.

I used to live here;
in endless contemplation.
A bottomless pit of self regression, reflection, redemption

I used to live here;
I still do but I used to as well.