The sun is setting…

anxiety knocks on the window,

it wants to come in and fill me with guilt

of all the unfinished projects of the day,

of all the poems that I didn’t write,

of all the pictures that I did not draw.

The stars twinkle in their boundlessness,

consoling my ever-seeking soul.

They don’t search for meaning,

they don’t have the pressure of performance.

They merely shine in their existence.

Is it my nature to be productive?

Or just to be human?

To witness the moon in its changing phases?

To ponder my short life in comparison?

To hold the mysteries of the night close to my soul?

To howl at the full moon?