Walking down a dusty lane
With a lighted candle in hand
In a dark midnight of September
I heard voices.
Voices that spoke to me, within me,
Giving me the answers
To questions I asked myself.
* * *
As the ancient trees dance in the wind,
A wind blowing in a bright morning,
A kite flies…
Moving in circles in the same space
In the zenith high above.
* * *
My mind stretches out
To the shimmering memories
Noted in my diary once upon a time
Of pleasant, yellow evenings
Or wild, drunken nights
Or the afternoon sky
Of a beautiful February.
* * *
No comments:
Post a Comment