Are words truly bound by lines in parallel formation

or by the linear perceptions of our timid minds

never allowing the possibilities to run rampant, spilling out like water over skin

gliding past all obstacles and infecting all it brushes past.

The words captured by your ink and pen held in suspension,

trembling with energy straining against their carefully scribbled prisons.

It is these words that have unimaginable potential,

a potential for wild beauty or dull monotony,

hope of inspiration or fear of suppression,

the possibility of an impact looming like a meteor on the horizon.

Frozen in time, halted by invisible barriers,

immovable blockades strengthened by the fear of freedom

exuded by the masses of literary precautionists,

this meteor threatening impact will leave a crater

not one empty of life and devoid of structure,

but one carefully produced, foundations laid with every intention of discovery.

Words flowing out like heart's blood, pumping steadily,

escaping finally, winding their way into waiting minds,

anonymity in their essence.