• Kristiana Roemer


I went looking for company

and found eyes peering out from nature.

I went looking for gold

and found it floating on the water.

I went looking for drama

and found it pouring from the sun.

I went looking for rhythm

and found it pulsing from a critter.

In no other spot would I rather

sit and write

a poem.


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My reflections are moving in nearer as I stand here in my house of mirrors. Some are chipped, some need dusting. Some are polished to a shine, crystal-clear. Some are obvious, some are deceiving. But


The gift of poetry. The most beautiful things can only be described through vagueness and metaphor; abstractly, we are like flies to the fire, not in the sense that we die when we hit true beauty but