Poetry

Mindset

I’m in an uncertain mood.

 

Uncertain if the days

are long

or if my mind is simply

short.

 

How many times does a person nod

when you’re not writing

about them?

 

Does the sun mind

that we can’t look at it,

or does it laugh

because we can,

just not in the way we think?

 

Have you heard the rumour

that a dripping tap

collects its drips

in a glass,

and then drinks them?

 

Did you watch the rumour

as it spilled from my lips

when I saw the tap

drink its drips

because the sun laughed

even when it felt sad

that no-one could look upon it

when, in fact, the person only nodded,

twice,

when they realised

my mind is short

and the day is long?

 

My mood is uncertain of me.

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