My rhymes form in clouds

over the arm chair

beside my note books

and the fire

 

My lines are captured

and preserved

in the remains of the forest

immortalised on its pulp
 

My words are held captive awhile

in the bright prison cells

where machines etch their pain

on smooth white sheets

 

My once quiet thoughts crash

noisily onto the leaves

again and again

and are swept together

 

My open mind is close bound

and my couplets covered  

held, forever ordered

dissonance forgotten

 

My captive codex is held  

waiting in the dark

Later, I will be freed

into the world