Poetic Realm

Words, out of rhyme, twisted like branches reaching out for the light. Words, impatient to escape, a song thrashing to be sung, struggling to be heard. Words, an organism wiggling its way out of a hard cocoon that it may holler ‘look, it’s me!’ Words, imaginary rumbling zipping out of a poet’s brain, yet real to breathe on its own. Words, meaningless until finally written and spoken, freed from the soul’s confine. A damn fool forming words popping out like cannonballs! don't ask why, it's just that way.