i. My eyes flick open In the darkness I lay there Listening to the sounds The guttural whine of stomachs emptying The grindstone whirs Muscled into Revolutions per minute Gyrating to Steady kinetic energy Centrifuging From the thoughts Of The makers ii. the day sparks into being being alive maybe it’s just a dream […]Read More anamnesis
Or an artist to be precise. There are so many people who parade themselves as such. Just because you have a little skill at putting nice sentences together doesn’t make you a poet or drawing people to perfection an artist. Art is one of the greatest gifts God gave to man. It is a […]Read More WHO IS A POET?