Sometimes the world can reinvent itself

with the placement of a breeze, or a cloud, or a shadow. 

Once my world was cloistered behind stalwart boxed walls

The sound of spinning and whirring below me frees

Like the winter season gives way to hopes of spring

And boxes move from being barricades to being stored away

Alight with purpose yet again, my inner shelves cleared

To write and read and travel and be

 A spinning world, top-like and blurred

Images that coalesce for the future to see

 

 

12:53 am

2 November 2011

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