Flow
The words started to flood forth this morning.
There was no receptacle to catch them as they fell,
No container to hold the precious flow.
The drought has been long.
For many months have these fields remained barren,
This swath devoid of any moisture at all.
So often the most brilliant lights flash
When nary an eye is open to witness it.
Perhaps the winds took hold of my words,
Unspoken, though they would have
Resonated with a volume far surpassing that
Which my own voice could sustain.
The jet stream rushed forth with
Its newly found prize, the pressure
Pulling it ever closer to the surface,
Unused to the heaviness of the parcel it carries.
I desire complete immersion,
The ability to leave behind the weight of this body,
To shed these earthly worries so that
I may become weightless.
