Openness, breaking the bonds of convention
And floating through the thoughts of
The reader, free and unknowable.
Weighted down by its own intent and ambition,
It falls like the bold Grecian son, 
But it does not sink.
Instead it rides upon inspiration and madness
To a new plane of understanding, 
Foreign to what it knew,
Familiar to all it has known,
Forever flowing and floating
From one mind to the next
In clarity, and in confusion.

What is closed may open,
Through the turning of not one key,
But many,
And then it may float in the aether
As its kin always has,
Though it carries with it
More love,
More scorn,
More depth,
And less submersability.
It trails after its kin,
Weighed down with structure,
Just as the other is weighed with ambition,
And while what is open may float bold and free
The closed moves with timidity,
Fearing the ones who will chain it again,
Yet always awaiting their gaze.



(Quick poem crapped out in 3 minutes during a theory class.)