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by   Wrigley

In the distance of the near, twirling wind;
beyond my reach, but within my grasp.
I see blindly, the paved way
to the dirt road rising flatly
unto the dry sea.

Silently I speak.
My voice is not my own.
My heart leaps a straight line of stillness.
Knowing, surely, nothing was ever certain...
till the twilight of the sun 
above your horizon,
crossed the clear haze
of my illogical heart.

Poem ID: 10498   Poem Posted: 2/1/1999
Viewed: 19541  Voted On: 222  E-mailed: 33  Commented On: 0
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Copyright , 1-18-99, Wrigley  all rights reserved by the author.
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