“I heard an airplane passing overhead. I wished I was on it.”
Out here, up there, going anywhere,
As long as he was not on it.
Your head is up in the clouds, he said
That was the only page of my book, he’d read.
The rest, I’d locked up in a cage,
Twas for my good or I’d be dead,
Distant lands, calm seas and quiet villages,
And that dark-haired stranger at the bar in the inn.
Brown eyes, well-worn pages,
Slightly wrinkled at the edges.
Slender fingers ready,
To write volumes on my skin,
Of stories I’d left unwritten.
The first two lines of this poem in quotation marks is a tweet at 12:28 on 02/01/2016 found on @PoemsPorn timeline. Good stuff on there. Please follow. That tweet inspired the rest of the poem.