I wrote about the wild winter wind
As it stung the flesh and caused tears to fall;
I wrote about the blazing sun, solitude
And melancholy, the soul's itinary:
I wrote at dawn and dusk, midday and midnight
Lines on pages, wrong on right.

Enclose me with words, paper walls.
Inkstained fingers and reams
Yes, those were the dreams.

The fingers would move, the pen would dance
And as thoughts glided on
Many a frozen lake did I cross
Countless times was I reborn

Several phantoms came to call.
Life, linear time, past leading to future:
The present wasn't so omnipresent
No, not at all.

I am far from the familiar.
An almost, almost failure.
I feel the weight of the words
The price of taking refuge in other worlds.

I write about the choices, difficult
And irremediable that a woman has to make,
Like stolen moments from destiny's time.

I show my foreign face to unfamilar winds
On beautiful bridges. Some pages of verse
Accompany me on melancholic days.

Rani Turton

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paper-walls/