Everywhere I go, I break off small pieces of glass - furtively making sure nobody catches me at my selfish, strange act.
I take these pieces and write my poems - carefully assembled balls of glass that make visions in the light.
This is my glass ball legacy. No one will see it just the same.”
How many people do we have to meet, how many mistakes do we have to make, how many times do we have to cry, before we become the people we are meant to be? How do we know who we’re meant to be?
Am I just an ongoing poem, or am I the epiphany at the end?
This book is a beginning. It is a collection of firsts: the life cycle of a caterpillar as it tries to become a butterfly. It is the time after the light leaves the stars and before it reaches our eyes. It is a question that decides to get up and find its own answer.
‘Light Time’ is a collection of poems about feeling, being and becoming. It is a search for truth, identity and happiness in the confusing haze of slowly growing up.
“This poem.
Maybe you will read it, and find some truth.
Tell me, won’t you?
Maybe it won’t be the truth of this poem, but since I’m writing it and I don’t know what it is, maybe there isn’t one.
Everywhere I go, I break off small pieces of glass - furtively making sure nobody catches me at my selfish, strange act.
I take these pieces and write my poems - carefully assembled balls of glass that make visions in the light.
This is my glass ball legacy. No one will see it just the same.”
How many people do we have to meet, how many mistakes do we have to make, how many times do we have to cry, before we become the people we are meant to be? How do we know who we’re meant to be?
Am I just an ongoing poem, or am I the epiphany at the end?
This book is a beginning. It is a collection of firsts: the life cycle of a caterpillar as it tries to become a butterfly. It is the time after the light leaves the stars and before it reaches our eyes. It is a question that decides to get up and find its own answer.
‘Light Time’ is a collection of poems about feeling, being and becoming. It is a search for truth, identity and happiness in the confusing haze of slowly growing up.
“This poem.
Maybe you will read it, and find some truth.
Tell me, won’t you?
Maybe it won’t be the truth of this poem, but since I’m writing it and I don’t know what it is, maybe there isn’t one.