Escape? Perhaps.

I feel like I am trapped in a place which lives, eats and breathes poetry, especially Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. Here, sometimes the thought of free falling also comes to my mind. Falling without regard to consequences. Just falling. Anywhere, somewhere.. Where there is only verse and song. Wait. Trapped would not be a good word to use here because I like this place. A lot.

Escape? Perhaps.

Alphabets in the Sand

In pictures ancient, you can see

Painted curtains left to dry

Footprints in the snow, one you, one me

In the sky are sparkling Northern lights

Like Hansel and Gretal, a bread filled mead

On a journey to Neverland

Point in the hourglass where you said

We’d carve alphabets in the sand

The meadow went from bush to stone

But time lives on in my hands

Where the paper , brown and worn

Smiles away carelessly, shy yet grand

I hear a whisper that tells

Me to look for berries by the trees

That whisper in my heart for a moment dwells

Hums dimmer and is lost to the trees