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.


I keep a jar filled

With stardust next to my bed

Every night it shines

I found it on a hill

To which the wandering road led

Amidst the scarlet grapevines

There I had paused, and used my quill

Inked word upon word, left unsaid

Indeed I wrote, as if all the world was mine

When I stood to leave, I found a jar filled

With stardust, in the lovely mead’

And every night, it shines