I can trap memories <br />like insects in matchboxes. <br />Huge thundering thoughts I’ve wrestled away <br />as if into canning jars <br />and watched them churn. <br /> <br />Rarely, an experience is too profound to contain, <br />or there is too much of it; it drifts <br />like a bright cloud of seeds through my head, <br />touching down in forgotten places, <br />or places too sad to tip-toe out to. <br /> <br />Then it grows behind my eyes like a weed <br />so that when I sleep <br />all I can see is you, <br />and when I try to reach out <br />I am left stood in a field of dandelions, <br />a million more than I could ever press.<br /><br />Alexander James Allen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dandelions-6/
