My literature professor gave us 10 minutes to write a random poem with no prompt. This is what I came up with (completely unedited). At least it counts for my poem of the day! Tomorrow I’m trying prose poetry, stay tuned for that potential fiasco.

 

These winter bones

Creak with age

So he turns the page

To not feel so alone

 

In this corridor of sighs

She reigns as queen

But what does it mean

If she can’t feel the highs?

 

So many decisions

In so little time

It would be a crime

To choose without precision

 

Does it ever matter?

If you choose what is right,

Or choose what makes work light?

Too many people choose the latter.