Questions for Wynn Alan Bruce When We Meet
I’ve been writing poetry for a while and tucking it away various places. Since this one was already posted on Instagram a while back, might as well paste it up here too.
Was it hard to be silent with people?
(Who doesn’t struggle to
contain themselves?)
When did pain — even for
a moment — surpass grief?
How did it feel
becoming the fire inside?
What peace was revealed in
making a gift of your death?
(Did they listen? Ah — )
I’ve been writing poetry for a while and tucking it away various places. Since this one was already posted on Instagram a while back, might as well paste it up here too. (Over time, I’ve become less and less interested in the internet as a home for my creative writing; I was not put on this earth to train LLMs.)