Please, Shut My Door

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.