A short poem on resistance and creativity. I want to start writing more, and so its been on my mind.
Two coarsened ends tug past one another Sparks cycling off worn bodies which Alight into the night sky like tiny fireflies Growing into ever larger clusters of light. Then into globes, miniature suns until They flash out in a grand theatre as supernovae. Fodder for the creation of unspoken worlds, Breathe in the body, note in the song. Within the initial resistance, the seed of potentiality lies dormant, waiting for the catalyst's kiss. The task is to make space. To sit, allow, ponder, then spill the words, music, thoughts, life, wonder All onto the page.
There’s something so quietly powerful in how you captured the tension between stillness and movement — the way friction shapes us, slows us, sometimes even protects us. This piece lingered with me.