My mind feels like a drought --
a conscious lack of thought about the harvest,
it's been ignored,
untouched,
unquestioned,
and "unburdened".
But it still remains a nostalgic sight to those who pass by and see its brown grass,
its veiny leaves,
its weeds in the concrete --
I walk quietly along with music in my headphones, wondering if it's loud enough to drown the guilt of my self-induced disparity and my disinterest in the sustenance I need to be more than just a warm seat in the room,
but rather a warm blanket to the homeless.
All I know is that the next page is blank,
and that a blank page is still opportunity.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
My mind feels like a drought --
a conscious lack of thought about the harvest,
it's been ignored,
untouched,
unquestioned,
and "unburdened".
But it still remains a nostalgic sight to those who pass by and see its brown grass,
its veiny leaves,
its weeds in the concrete --
I walk quietly along with music in my headphones, wondering if it's loud enough to drown the guilt of my self-induced disparity and my disinterest in the sustenance I need to be more than just a warm seat in the room,
but rather a warm blanket to the homeless.
All I know is that the next page is blank,
and that a blank page is still opportunity.
I wrote this in my notebook at a church community group meeting during a 10-minute "reflection period". I did not share it.
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