Space

In two foot of space I can turn

In five foot I can bathe

In seven foot I can lie on the floor and stretch.

 

Emotional flux.

 

Where in two foot I am suffocating

In four I am clawing to be free,

And eight buries me just as deep.

 

I need to be set open

With the winds under me;

Where no space can contain me.

 

To rapture the flowering valleys

To engulf the roaring seas

To behold erupting volcanoes

To be awe at the flight of a bumblebee.

 

All part of my mental rest

To relocate; to find me.

 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

how ironic....space yet cramped in it...

sometimes when we have our own space, we don't want it...we want someone to share it with...

and sometimes we get lost in the gaps...and can't find ourselves...

not enough we want more, too much and we are buried in it...love that idea.

jacob

[sheistheone]

thanks for your read and comment...it means a lot!
SITO

[Vignette]

At times it feels so cramped we can't breathe, and how we long for the freedom of endless space to cure the suffocation in our souls.

A nice piece, Sito, and a journey for the mind.

[RavenDelcor]

Inner space, vast or cramped? Flying like an eagle with the whimsy of a child, a spirit set free. I like the imagery and contrast in the poem. Though it seems to be a search, it is also a journey, rather than an entrapment. Good job SITO and welcome to the cafe!