Saturday, April 5, 2008

Untitled

No words, no words, the poet says.
For viewing the visions in blurred form
leaves naught to the keys of inspired thought.
What verse can be made in this shadow, hazed light
When men are waiting, waiting, waiting
Through the near skeptic's eye,
Save only this breath of life and word
I am here.
I am Yours.

1 comment:

tiny dancer said...

this is beautiful!