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.
<Deleted User> (4446)
Fri 8th Aug 2008 18:38
I enjoyed this poem and the way you use language.