Poetry comes out
with my eyes closed
when sleep in near;
brilliant poems flow
when paper is far
and repeating is not enough.
Wisdom and intelligence overwhelm me
when the only outlet is to speak it to myself
or when no one is listening.
Yet when I open my eyes
words fly away
like fading dreams they fly.
The poetry inside is trapped
like a rat in a house unable to be freed
as soon as the paper is in reach.
I open my mouth when some is around
and only babble spews out.
So I write with my eyes closed,
freeing my poems from the paper trap
and write when no on is around
with the quiet of my mind.