Freeform

Free form
A breeze, a storm
What do you call poetry with no rhythm, no rhyme,
No sense of time, but you can see it with the mind’s eye
The eye of the storm, where dreams are born?
But don’t get me wrong. Poetry doesn’t have to have a spine
Or legwork to stand on it’s own.

Free form
Forlorn, a spree
A forgotten philosophy
A mind numbing, lightning fast ascent
and with our heads in the clouds
It's a signing contract
That pays no price
This form is free

The lines keep coming
The bars in a row
Like a prison, I’m a stow away,
Just go, away i go, from a box to another one
Ship-shape, entropy defined
Lemon- lime, a sublime kind of notoriety,
A spirit locked inside of me
Like black and white and white in black
Like a prisoner, in uniform
From inside, the spirit is torn
A Free form.