Stillness is Poetry
All of this excess movement, need
to create, chest shakes,
snort, scratch, and cracking joints,
and tension too —
Begins with a lack of satisfaction
I figured that creativity and
restlessness went hand-in-hand
Better, they were inseparable, the same
Now my arm
is so still
that two flies
mistake it for a branch
Poetry can snatch at passing
buzzing energy and
end in still-life
But eternal works
begin with stillness.
3 thoughts on "Stillness is Poetry"
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Enjoyed this poem. “Now my arm/is so still/that two flies/mistake it for a branch” – wonderful lines.
Thank you, you kind soul
this is so relatable! and so beautifully told, thank you for putting it into words