there was a time when I woke with poetry
and went to bed with it,
a time when I walked the streets singing,
greeting birds and trees on my way
somewhere I didn’t have to be.
There was a time when I had time to waste.
When my biggest fear wasn’t failure
a time when I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by life’s daily responsibilities
which have come to feel like heavy shackles lately.
The biggest problem in being a poet these days is that when you’re looking for poetry in the daily
and don’t find it-
maybe because there was just so much to do (there always is),
you feel the burning question inside of you:
“what’s all of this for?”
and all the small victories and glories at the office
no longer hold any sense.
When the daily becomes the mundane
that’s the quickest way
to make a poet cry.