Bright?

An old street.

New blocks.

A quiet walk.

Loud thoughts.

The bright sunlight.

Shadowy spots.

A charming street it was, with antiquated rocks, torn by war and rebuilt with nothing short of resolve. Strange were my thoughts as they pushed and prodded the scene, moving things around in obscure fashion in a world that seemed so settled and set. All around me, decorating the dilapidated, yet lively ruins, were the coating of the sun’s welcoming light.

At war.

Might be peace.

Cold shadow.

Sign of light.

Quiet dawn.

A stale state.

In a town like this, war is apparent. More so than where I’m from. Could it mean there’s more worth fighting for? Dashed by the trees and silhouetted by buildings, the sun left shadows etched in the rocks. It’s only in a shadow that we find the idea of light cast upon our thoughts. Where an evenness exists, balanced at the crux, afraid to venture far into night or day. That’s where we’ve stalled, stopped our hearts, and staved our fight.



Billy Collins lectures have been super helpful in my poetic journey! Can’t tell people how much I’m obsessed with Masterclass!