My Metaphor
As a high soaring bird I fly
Each new thought stretching for an untold sky
My mind, a balloon drifts a float,
And making friends with the clouds and the rain,
Risks flying soaring back, to a rougher still terrain.
A dreamer I am, I child in an ocean I float
Unanchored and free,
in a shockingly real wooden boat.
An unread book, with wide open pages
My Mind is forced to restricting wages
With a future untold,
My decisions are sore thumbs, ever increasingly bold.
A sprouting tree, I know not what each limb may be
But with each ticking of the clock, comes a rising soaring me.
