My notes are filled with little snippets of thought a scribble of letters, genuine but unrefined it seems that when I feel passion I lack the motivation yet when I sit down with a glass of lemonade laptop in hand and cool breeze running through my hair my mind suddenly seems to lack a single coherent thought discouragement turns the pink sugar water to mud I question how I can declare poetry my love when I have not showered it with affection in months maybe I try too hard to turn pretty what's meant to be misshapen maybe each word doesn't have to flow like a steady stream divulging the meaning of this world or the secrets in my heart maybe it's alright if a poem feels more like treading over rocks than drifting to sleep on a giant fluffy cloud maybe this is enough

So many tears
that haven't been cried yet
So much laughter
that has not been laughed yet
So much life
That hasn't been lived yet

Still, it's not on us to choose
When the anchor will be cut loose

But if we happen to be lucky
We will have some provisions with us
for the journey into the unknown......

Our tears
Our laughter
and the love of the people
with whom we have shared all this.

( © Heike Borgard 2024)