I step over rocks

I look at the clock

It’s time you say

To knock at my calling

So hard locking

In my dreams

A stream of

A fountain

Holds to extreme

Limits

Never accusing

The beginning

But forming

In a mock up

Of what truly

Holds

To the mold

Of docking

Is not

Sitting

But in lifting

the unlimited

potential

Posted by Aimee in Poetry