I have heard authors of fiction say that the characters take the writers in a certain direction rather than the other way around. I feel the same way about poems. They seem to have a mind of their own. When I began the poem below, I intended to write about flying. That only lasted for two lines. Instead, I ended up writing about getting away, even to the point of escaping.

Flight

Journey toward the sky.
Drowning in the blue.
Sprint down the block.
Ease into the speed.
Listen to the notes.
Let the sound surround.
Pick up a pen.
Wrestle with the words.
Empty a bottle.
Slide into the haze.
Take flight.