Poetry in me

There are so many times I fall asleep with poetry in my eyes. I let my eyelids drop to make me see that type of darkness that hypnotises my ambitions and past memories and there they come, the words. These words I cannot control or ask where they come from start making phrases, sentences, and paragraphs, coming up on this black board before me. And, oh my, I may not know what they are, what they mean or come from, but they tell me things a sleepy man would not hear and an awake man would not understand. They dig themselves within me and dance a waltz.

And as if words had bodies and could even dance, I know. But I don't understand either. I am flashed by these feelings and thoughts in shapes of words, just words, words, words. Poetry in my eyes, while I let the weight of another day of this life that never seems to end set my soul down, just resting. I have poetry writen in my eyes. Pretty words that I will shall not recall when I wake up, pretty words telling me secrets that I didn't know about myself. Secrets that I will forget and so keep them save as the waltz comes to an end, and the words disappear mysteriously, just like the way they came. They come and go and all I can do is watch them with my eyes closed. Come and go, come and go... Poetry in me.