Pen in Motion

There are poems inside
my head –
didn’t know they were there
before.
Maybe they weren’t,
or maybe they were just hidden
under the fog.
But now they can see,
and it’s a mad rush to be first in line,
first to break out,
be something more
than just thoughts.
It’s a jumble of words and feelings
and no one wants to be polite –
like wild mustangs
who just discovered the fence
has a gate.
The horses didn’t know
they were trapped
until they saw that boundary.
But there’s a gate
and that means freedom.
It’s a whole new world
out there.
I want them to take turns,
be nice.
But the horde is not listening,
not lining up in order.
Is it chaos in my head?
Maybe a little.
But still,
all that trampling
is a symphony
to a once barren space.
Don’t worry –
you’ll all get out soon.