Hm. I love your poetry! Have I already told you this? I feel them just outside my reasoning being, they elude me like a half remembered song.
This one describes something both bleak and banal to me, with a futile hope. A typical day, for many, in an imposed pool of reality. Do we look in these puddles and see our true selves, or our conditioned selves? When we crumple, do we yearn for a pool to bathe ourselves clean in but find instead only puddles to refashion our images in?
You're very good.
I’d like to say thank you, but often with pieces like this one, I feel like they are just given to me. I wish I knew where the ideas and first lines came from, but I don’t. Much like the way AI seems to work, I’ll have a starting point, and the rest of the writing process is about looking for the next best word or line or image.
This one didn’t take long to write per se, but it took a long time to change and adjust.
It’s really nice to hear what a reader reads into it and takes away from it. I’ve shared this poem with a number of people and even tried to have it published once or twice, but I’ve never received any feedback on it or about what the reader takes away from it.
So, thank you. I really appreciate your comment.