My thoughts while observing Brown University's class of 1939
A poem on a Penn Station wall inspired my own poem about what I want, need, and hope for at this difficult moment.
2018, my optimism is as great as my fear. Be glorious, and grow no more.
The passage of time is horrifying to face and acknowledge. But can it lead to something beautiful?
A former Buddhist monk got me thinking that time is a horrifying illusion that we can transcend.
Am I the only one that feels this way?
