Poetic Stories
To the point but not so to the point,
wandering through the transcendental air,
flying through time clouds with its melodic wings,
wrapping its arms around the stars,
melting the words down to a fervent sigh
with a story that runs around the mind,
along the spine, through the fissures of the heart,
then to the perplexity of the mind,
leaving the curious reader in limbo,
but a story of the truth of the heart’s sensation,
the power of words in their poetic order,
the plot distorted and romanticized,
the story dressed up in its finest attire,
abstract thought leading to more abstract thought,
imagination churning like the winds of time,
words growing wings and soaring into the air,
plots becoming irrelevant and forgotten,
truth losing its footing and living upon the sand,
the house of the poet falling into the sea,
his heart left open for all to peak into,
to see the engines that run his thoughts,
his theories that he lives by,
his mind stuffed full of words and stories,
still unrefined, unfinished, unsettled,
but there to be elaborated upon,
there to add onto each other and
go on and on and on—————
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