Slipping ..swiftly through stanzas...
And slinking in and out of lines...
Roaming pen-less through clouds of words..
Padded with terminology of poetic devices..
Regurgitating all that lays deep in my core..
My soul bleeding out poetry that blends fine with some tea..
Absent from the mind...and one with the soul...
As my lost pen thinks for me..
Relishing in thoughts and memories that creep out..
Conglomerating all that is in my body..
To create a single metaphor...
Or a simile that converse so well with its line..
All that becomes ...stays while my eyes are closed...

Succumbing to the pleasant feeling..
That is my words flowing outwardly..
Freely...and smoothly..
From my mindset...
Down through my arms..
Into my hand..
And onto the curvature that becomes my pen..
Sliding across the page of my pad..
Line after line...
Stanza after stanza...
Word after word..
Building into a climatic form..
Into a process called poetry...
Oh my dreaming...

Turning over...
Flipping the pillow to the cool side..
Drip drop the characters that i need..
Into my ear...
So i can discover a new way to render the reader ..
Either happy...sad..rediscovered..hurt..
Any form of that causes a reaction of some sort..
While the words never cease to amaze me..
They take form in correct formation..
Allowing to be used in fashions that have been used and havent...
Switching from first..to second to third person..
All in a lines work..
Or suspending work to rhyme..
Also taking part in stanzas that dont appeal to that line..
Causing an effect..
For me to wake up in a hot sweat..
Saying..
What a poetic dream..

Poetic Dreaming...
Another exposure to a side thats rarely ventured...
Only taking a few minutes of sleep..
To recreate a line..or verse..
Possibly to evaluate my self view of poetry...
Coursing through every vein that i hold in my epidermal ...
I feel the movements...
And uncontrollably write down the spontaneous thoughts..
Simply...doing what is called by them..
And they helping me surrender things unsaid and unknown to those at hand..

No fairies..

Or sugary layers...

Only my words..and poetic devices...
Now i must sleep again..
Poetry is calling again...