"stanstill" poems
A building with no recipients to look around at the beauty of the inside.
Trees without beings for them to help breathe, a car with no engine stays at a stanstill.
Each with no direction.
None of them fulfilling. Neither are words without true meaning.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
The necessary evil,
like the brakes on my bike
this lockdown is now what
I hate to dislike.
Though life is a stanstill
lockdown roasts me slowly
I try to take things easy
and prefer the chicken to grill.
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC