I really love this one, though it reminds me of something bitter — that is, the burnout I felt at the end of the school year. Even now, I flinch from self-exertion. My body has grown accustomed to keeping itself from the fire, even when it’s cold.
I feel that, Rob. I swing between the pendulum of Whitman’s loafing and wishing to be consumed, letting the fire burn away all the chaff of my being. Neither is all good; hence the pendulum. I hope you are finding productive rest for yourself these days.
You know, when summer started, I thought I’d feel free but I’m only as free as I’m willing try. With a withered, timid flame, it’s like I’m looking at the sky and I’m troubled that I can’t fill it. But it’s restful, though confusing. I’ve been thinking of writing a post about it, but I have too many things I want to write so it’s been sitting on the shelf. Talking now, maybe it needs to come to the fore.
Oh what a beautiful poem
I really love this one, though it reminds me of something bitter — that is, the burnout I felt at the end of the school year. Even now, I flinch from self-exertion. My body has grown accustomed to keeping itself from the fire, even when it’s cold.
I feel that, Rob. I swing between the pendulum of Whitman’s loafing and wishing to be consumed, letting the fire burn away all the chaff of my being. Neither is all good; hence the pendulum. I hope you are finding productive rest for yourself these days.
You know, when summer started, I thought I’d feel free but I’m only as free as I’m willing try. With a withered, timid flame, it’s like I’m looking at the sky and I’m troubled that I can’t fill it. But it’s restful, though confusing. I’ve been thinking of writing a post about it, but I have too many things I want to write so it’s been sitting on the shelf. Talking now, maybe it needs to come to the fore.
I'm in love with this poem. I wanna breathe it in! The last block is like magic.