Saving the Streets of my Mind

My street was washed

Down with rain

Away went all

Those years of grime

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.