Wandering alone on a foggy day…
The sun tickles the back of my eye…
Cars streaking by outside the door…
Flashing lights…
He will come. I’m sure of it.
Frothy drink sliding down…
The area man brings a smile…
And close after a sigh…
Inspiration dead. I can’t find him.
Praying distantly, to come to some conclusion…
Before the end of this poem…
I have hope, faith, and love. These are my tools.
Hope to look, faith to live…
Beyond my current horizon. The horizon is always changing.
And love.
ZJD - Fall 2004
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