Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three. Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest having to do with prose. I realized January 19ththat I will turn twenty-four in three months, and since I started writing some poems before it’s too late: forty-six poems at twenty-three. I’ll post each Friday until the last week of March, then I’ll post one a day until my birthday on April 30th. Here’s number 8:

First day, light
Second day, waves
Third day, sky
Fourth day, rays
Fifth day, wings
Sixth day, man
Seventh day, sleeps to sound of strings
Eighth day, king creates again.