by Mar 17, 2004Poetry

I think
yet nothing happens
maybe it is not a thought
if no result comes
weary are my fingers
and bones so very weak
I feel as if I could blow away
one light wind to take me
and ashes and dirt remain instead
as the long days break me
old and tired
yet young in body in the sceme of things
my mind withered
my story feels cold
hope i need to fill me
warm my chilly blood
fly through mind and spirit
to warm and sooth my soul
pour a pitcher of hope
down my scrathcy throat
gulp it in to my tired worn body
and make it want to go
to think again,
a clear crisp thought
something that cannot be bought


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