Being Of the Inside has its perks;
between walls we’re unbashed by time and tide
and often being Of the Inside works
to teach us what of us we miss outside.
With books we elevate above our homes;
through films we scale the mountains to the skies.
We nurse our friendships easy on the phone
and all our houseplants struggle more to die.
We are our biggest critics; we suppose
the strings unplucked, the piano unlearned
means failure on our part, a waste of days
we didn’t need, and through disaster earned.
But what a show of hope in suffering
that in this death, we wanted still to sing.