Caught in the Sky

​

I do not write poetry --

poetry writes me.

It oozes from my soul

tickling my mind

takes hold.

Suddenly i am flying

my inner self soaring

on a breeze of contemplation.

All that i am in memory

stretches below me

roused from slumber

recollecting old sensations

itching with --

anticipation.

All that i am in reverie

scatters overhead

stars in the heavens.

I flit from constellation to nebulae

each word taking shape

within me, a mote

in this cloud of vocabulary.

Galaxies unfurl in infinite complexity

every possibility that ever has been

or is

or could be

combine

in this space.

The bars are broken

doors thrown open.

Air stirs to eject --

limitations.

The sky carries me away --

i hold the key and am free.