6 am alarm clock blurs dreams to
reality and I run out of my house
Saturday morning.
Angry brake lights blink like
ambulance flashers as the sign reads
Freeway Closed Ahead.
My fingers tap tap tapping the wheel
I sing slightly off key
to a bubblegum tune.
Hordes of impatient cars weave
in out, mad bulls searching
exit ramps
as my foot taps to
the tune.
When the knot clears, I accelerate
wanting nothing but a jolt of caffeine
before class begins.
Sun over the trees dazzles my
eyes. Then a host of Hot air balloons
red, green, blue
blaze against clouds’ canvas.
at the helm each
pilot a painter.
Gasping I pull over,
close my eyes.
I am the colors swirling,
and with them
I fly.
2 comments:
This comment is for the whole blog.
Oh. I thought it would let me go back to the post I started. I like "Samsara." What a great poem with so many meanings. Enjoyed reading your other poetry.
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