Yellowed by the sun,
dirty with desert dust,
spotted by the rain,
the air stale.
Holding me in.
A large clear dome,
like the ones you see on distant planets
in science fiction movies.
Only I am here on earth,
inside our home.
I look for a way out
but there is never one.
Even if there was,
there would be no place to go.
So I find solace
in the dance of the pen
tranquillity among words.
Quietly Making Noise 