Poetry, a little.

I like the sky. It looks nice. We can be nice. I’m tired, but I can still be nice and when that happens my hands won’t ache and my chest won’t feel so full; full like it’s going to burst unless I die, and maybe I shouldn’t die just yet because there’s so much to do that we have to do until it’s done, and maybe then.

-M. Taggart

Coronavirus in bloom

Truth needs to be.

The Coronavirus is unsettling.

Day to day life is being affected.

I won’t ignore it.

Neither will my friend, Ana, an EU citizen, and author. “Frustrated at myself for feeling so powerless. Frustrated at us as a nation for reacting the way we apparently are.”

https://analindenblog.wordpress.com/2020/03/13/that-mandatory-coronavirus-post-my-two-cents-and-the-ugliness-in-us/

Read on. It’s good for the brain.

Matt

Poem – Will It

A new thought, subcutaneous in nature,
provoked an uncontrollable desolation-
To the North sits newly consecrated ground-
Here though, lay the cracks of today, splintered
with fear as the sun dips while we search for
pocketed isolation to decipher entrance to the light.

-M. Taggart