A Writer Without a Pen

5-17-2009 A writer without a pen A writer with out a pen ,a clock with out a when, Where is the door to leave,towards the sea that’s without me, Where the eye of the bird in flight is truly free, Where memories are to remain,black and white as a silent film, Where blindness can be seen,silence can t be heard, Where memories to remain, are abandoned as if left behind. I am aware of my soul has been worn as shoes I have worn, Many miles of hard traveling,since the day I was born, Has taken my breath further away,closer to where it is I am going..