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Waking with Socrates
My hunger now to learn is deep and real,
much more than food could ever satisfy.
No dish or treat has quite the same appeal
It’s knowledge now that pulls and drives me high.
Florence, Or Something Like It
Reflecting’s become a quiet art
the past a film I play in part,
fog on glass, a softened view
of what was real, and what I knew.
Baz and I, we trade old scenes,
between the lines and all in-betweens…
Blank Piece of Paper
I call it May, but it feels like dust,
a loop of days I’ve learned to mistrust.
Fresh page, old ink — the same tired spin,
hoping this time, the new month lets me win.
April came with cluttered skies,
a head full of noise and silent whys…
Small Wins
I count my wealth in slow-earned days,
in euros stacked from tired praise.
€350 — not much, they’d say,
but to me, it’s brick upon brick in the endless clay.
I could spiral,
Day Two
It’s my second day back on the road once more,
Chasing a feeling I can’t ignore.
Is it a new PB? A glory to boast?
Or pictures online with captions and post?
No, not the medals, the likes, or the praise—
A Sprinkle of Glitter
I watch the screen, the silence grows
These long weekends, soft and slow
But deep inside, I think it shows
That too much rest begins to throw.
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