Indefinite

Tired to be

In definitive forms,

I'd rather be

Some kind of chameleon –

Color changing

Shape shifting

Vibrating chords –

My days, like a batter,

Molded by my thoughts –

I'd be the wind

To run away with clouds,

Then maybe the snow

To sparkle so proud,

I could be the silence

In the eye of a storm,

Or the lazy winter slumber

You'd never wake up from.