Wait.
Do not underestimate
the power of a momentary
meditation on the sound of birds
in the evening. It isn’t too late.
Spare me the sparrow’s fate.
The sun hesitates on the edge of the horizon,
debates whether to saturate the sky
with colors we won’t notice, don’t focus
too hard on your breathing or you will suffocate.
So, just, wait.
For now, the silence opens its arms,
the page embraces whatever you choose to create.
Some words are born from love, others from hate.
Some creations are a mirror meant to permeate
reality and initiate a state of mind
in any one who looks in its face and patience may be
the next thing the world calls great.
It isn’t too late.
So, just, wait.