Sitting in class
A mind in a room
It's my mind.
Murmurs and scribbles
Have the room in a vibration
scribble, scribble
My pencil is an open door
And while everything
Surrounding me is in a blur,
My pencil takes me away
Deep into a different world,
A parallel universe,
And everything around me is white.
My voice announces each word trancedly
As it appears on my page.
My poem is written on the skies,
On the floor, and in the air.
A pure, plain land of black and white
Where there are no uncertainties.
The complexities of my thoughts untangle
And I am exposed to a simplicity
I have never known.
The vibrating room is now inconsiderate
Of my writing
And my poem
And my silence is shattered by
A loud voice.
"Are you finished?"