Some people’s thoughts are like snails,

Sliding drearily across the earth,

Following in other’s trails.

But mine                jump

There

                                                     Gone.

I try to hold them down but they’re

                                                             Scattered away

I n  o n e  t h o u s a n d  p i e c e s

I’ve been called careless,

                                                       thoughtless         

                                                       But I’m not. 

                         My thoughts are just full of

                                                                                                 something else.

                             Flying                                      slime

                                        away                 snails

                                                 from the

                              From the worn paths on the ground

                             Thoughts thought time after time.

                                                                                       I try to hold them in

                                                                                       A net        But they’re

                                                                          Floating                                  away

And                                I                                     can't                                     hold 

                                                                                                                                           them

                        Birds in the sky

                                                                 Soaring

                                                                                    Away. 

                                               But I’m still not thoughtless.

As new thoughts flutter in                                                                             

                    in their disorganised mess                                

                                                             They form a shape of 

                                                                                               word            wings

                                                                                                        woven

                                                                                                                           And I’m flying.