sun rising and still a tyrant rules it used to be faraway places now here, my home even as songbirds serenade me awake I will not watch— instead I stand with the birds and sing
We lift our voices,
to assert “yes,” “no,” “enough.”
Join chorus, to sing.
yes!
Wowser... a perfect little poem with such an uplift of an ending. Nicely done, Amrita!
High praise! Thank you, Jan.
Brava! Me, too. xo
Really, what else is there to do, accept make good trouble?
Precisely. xo
I think of writing as falling under the category of "good trouble." Do you think that's fair?
I do. I do it too.
Oh, good. It's so frustrating to not truly have agency, isn't it?
We lift our voices,
to assert “yes,” “no,” “enough.”
Join chorus, to sing.
yes!
Wowser... a perfect little poem with such an uplift of an ending. Nicely done, Amrita!
High praise! Thank you, Jan.
Brava! Me, too. xo
Really, what else is there to do, accept make good trouble?
Precisely. xo
I think of writing as falling under the category of "good trouble." Do you think that's fair?
I do. I do it too.
Oh, good. It's so frustrating to not truly have agency, isn't it?