I wrote a poem,
and saw that it was imprisoned
in my paper library.
Even when I read them to myself,
they had no soul,
and no passion.
I was adrift
in my meandering consciousness.
I was alone with my words,
and left to listen
as they screamed to be set free.
Against my better judgement,
I set the words free,
and released them into the wild,
not knowing whether social media
would alter them forever
into a jumble of letters and words
I did not recognize.
Once free,
I lost control of them,
and watched, helplessly,
as they passed from hand to hand,
and soul to soul,
until they had a totally different meaning.
They described events
that never happened.
I wrote a poem,
and set it free,
never to be seen or heard again.
