It’s 6:30am and I don’t know why I am awake, but the muse is knocking on the door with a metaphor.
He opens the door to his world and I peer though;
Seeing it as a terminal through which planes fly
Into a different existence than the one I have been living.
A taste, a peek, an observant moment
That makes me see my world is too crowded, too tangled
So full of the unnecessary – I’m not ready to fly, unburdened;
Such that this ticket to ride may take deep preparation.
Stacks and stacks and stacks of my life
Fed into the system over time drain me dry
Yet now I’m in a hurry to unloosen all the strife
So I can cross the door, board the plane, and fly.