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The balloon

A balloon is drifting up past the terraced trees

into the blue freadom of air, it pauses to catch

the invisble flow that bounces it in a jitter,

I stand and study this flight: this idea escaping

to the ether, this dream that floats away with

wild birds and migratory thought.

I watch from the window as it becomes a

decimal point in the distance of poem. 

◄ Small poem

Rudiments ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (4446)

Fri 8th Aug 2008 18:38

I enjoyed this poem and the way you use language.

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