I fly through never ending time
Ride waves of verse and prose,
Taste all the secret treasures that
In hidden gardens grow.
As parchment flutters blindingly
Before my weary eyes,
I hear my siren sing me near
And follow with a sigh.
Here and there, then back again,
I’m jolted far away,
Pulled and ripped from here and now,
To where? I cannot say.
I never know quite where I’ll wake,
In times gone by, or distant lands,
I never know when I’ll return
Unto my own familiar sands.
Sometimes I drift to yet-to-come
And see things yet unseen,
I hear the words of unborn youth
As from within my dreams.
A prisoner of the whirling black
On musty sheets of white,
I soar unbidden through these worlds,
Enamored of the flight.
I can’t escape, yet I’m more free
Than those outside my cage
Who’ve never been, nor yet will be
Addicted to the page.