sleepy poet

by Christian Robinson

Ars Poetica

Something winks,

Through the dark.


I can only hope it is my soul,

In writing, song, or paint strokes.


I begin to mend.


I reach depths never thought possible.

Sinking into the long corridors, 

The lonely abyss.


I abandon the shell-shocked self,

And welcome the vulnerable, veracious vagabond.


plein air

figurative

worldbuilding

cathartic