A night so cold and quiet
The winter’s early dimming stills prematurely motion and need.
Left to one’s thoughts,
Surrounded by drafts from windows
Creaked open by new excited hands,
Throwing the long settled dust from the locks
Dancing amid planks and boxes.
Among this complacent breeze are
Waking dreams of abandon swelling:
Wafting skyward.
Tracing unturned pages
Amassed over time
Now stacked ceiling high.
Ideas and analytics slowed in this brief moment in time
possibilities abound where choices lie untouched at the dim base of a dreamed foothill.
The grass is soft to touch,
the blue moonlight brings you pause
the only desire within my nature
every ounce of my being burns for
escape
from an existence commandeered by predictability
the crimson hum that so often
commands attention and deference:
a grim reminder of the niceties that dictate my own decisions
within these walls I find release
interspersed throughout threaded spines
recycled wooded giants blotted and stained with
the outpouring of greater minds than my own.
around which I dance
burn sage
allow scintillated visions of choice and freedom
to mingle and refine themselves.
to leave these walls
to send the settled dust flying from those window locks and to set fire to these great pages
arise from the ashes and allow myself to join such sweet melodies in
billowing beyond our heavens.
I only wish to be as free
as the words I have not yet
committed to paper.
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