Modern Dickinsons

Poetry

has alluded me-

the times themselves are fighting

the creativity of modern Dickinsons

like we are the tracks on a road meant to be refurbished.

Despite this resentment I boil within me

I cannot strike away this dyer need for poetry

am I delusional in my delusions?

My reality is begging for words of clarity

so I clarify the words through poetry

but the words I write are no thing for the world to speak

if the world rather spend nights in daylight

and thoughts in AI mindsets.

I am a passion to be reckoned with

but no one is here to reckon but me.

Perhaps that is how poetry should be.