Box In My Pocket

i carry a box of words in my pocket
neat and tidy in their square confinement
stirring like smoke in lightless corners
breathing deep the magic beyond the void

they question and crow at the nature of their pointed world
built within the tranquil delicacy of pen to page
strong as stone and more fragile than the spider’s web
clawing at my senses with ephemeral curiousity

tearing through the empty spaces in my mind
leaving no broken ridge or plot hole ungrazed
as ravenous children through the candy store
running and eating- filled only by their hunger

beautiful and ugly, marvelous and terrible
as precious as sand and equal in number
glinting bold beneath the golden sun’s gaze
and glowing holy under at the feet of an imperfect moon

these are my words
carefully kept in a box well guarded
without a lid, without walls
because the universe just isn’t big enough

I’m not even sure I’d classify this as a poem or just a random assortment of words… it’s hard to tell the difference with me sometimes. :) Maybe it’s not very good but I still said what I said and that makes me happy.

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