this was meant to be a minute,
but then i began to spin it
and the words just took a hold,
so bold so bright
thrown like torches
into the indigo night
casting shadows on the back of
the retreating blocked,
blockhead blight,
setting grass and tree alight,
loosing now the tight hold
of poetblock fear
loosening the reins of rage
making the transition
into the feathered thing
that takes flight
and flys upward
on mirrored wing
to the sky,
not tethered
but also raw
and unweathered
unlimited by time,
but destined to fall
as energy becomes
one with all,
did not touch moon ,
did not see the sun
but this minutě wordmoth
soared and swooped
before it's minute was done
And now it flutters
down to earth,
saited and pleased
to have been..
birthed, never to die
but become byte eternal,
read once twice or more..
does not matter
wordmoths
have learnt
never
try to keep score