When I sit still enough, my fingers look like tree branches
the little ones I have to squint to see
these days, my eyes fail me more often than otherwise.
I read a line in the paper yesterday
"Why do we have a national poet if no one reads poetry"
anymore.
And I wonder if that's the world we live in
where poets are cast aside like mismatched socks
and just
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a gesture as helpless as veiled women in cathedrals
on their knees to reach above the clouds?"
No, writing is certainly not pointless. This poem (which rocked, by the way) proved it. It inspired me to crack open Tulips & Chimneys by e.e. cummings. It painted pictures in my head and got me thinking.
Keep writing poetry, Lizz. I enjoy reading it!
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