Huh?
The timpani of rushing winds
In constant echoes in his ears
Higher notes of static ether
distorting interference as he sat
Waiting for that moment when
His thoughts could wander back to then
Without a conscious thread to use
his mind could rest from such abuse
And freely soar alone
To answer all those frantic thoughts
So fraught with tangled weaving
A ship at sail without a port
He felt his aura leaving
Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2008
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